AN  OLD  TALE 
OF  HUGUENOT  DAYS 


King  or  Knave,  Which  Wins? 


By  the  Same  Author. 

THE  KING'S  HENCHMAN.  A  Chronicle 
of  the  Sixteenth  Century.  Brought  to  light 
and  Edited  by  WILLIAM  HENRY  JOHNSON. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  gilt  top,  81.50. 


KING   OR  KNAVE, 

WHICH   WINS? 

An  Old  Tale  of  Huguenot 
Days. 

EDITED    BY 

WILLIAM   HENRY   JOHNSON. 


Charmante  Gabrielle, 
PeroS  de  mille  dards, 
Quand  la  gloire  m'appelle 
A  la  suite  de  Mars, 
Cruelle  de"partie ! 
Que  ne  suis-je  sans  vie 
Ou  sans  amour? 

(  HBNRY  OF  NAVARRE  to  GABRIELLE  D'ESTREES.) 

Every  one  carries  his  destiny  in  his  own  bosom.  .  .  .  Fate  is 
but  the  deepest  current  of  one's  nature. 

(Louis  DE  BBLLBGARDE  to  GABRIBLLE  D'ESTRBES.) 


BOSTON: 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND   COMPANY. 
1899. 


Copyright,  1899, 
BY  WILLIAM  HENRY  JOHNSON. 


All  rights  reserved. 


SStuijersttg 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


INTRODUCTION 

IN  editing  the  second  of  the  manuscripts 
found  in  Pierre  Fourcade's  strong  box  only  a 
few  words  of  preface  are  needed.  That  it  is 
not  the  work  of  a  contemporary  of  Henry  the 
Great  seems  quite  certain.  The  modern  spell- 
ing and  the  simple,  uninvolved  style  clearly 
point  to  a  later  age  and  suggest  the  probability 
that  a  recent  hand,  perhaps  a  Fourcade's  of 
a  subsequent  generation,  ambitious  of  giving 
literary  form  to  the  work,  recast  and  moulded 
together  materials  contained  in  the  family 
records,  with  some  imaginative  additions,  in 
the  following  romantic  story. 

Yet  certainly  the  unknown  writer  has  adhered 
very  closely  to  facts.  On  this  point  the  most 
cursory  reading  of  French  History  is  convin- 
cing. At  the  first  I  was  inclined  to  resent 
the  extraordinary  levity  which  he  ascribes  to 
Henry,  as  an  unwarrantable  aspersion  of  the 
v 


Introduction 

greatest  of  French  monarchs,  "the  only  one 
who  lives  in  the  memory  of  the  people."  But 
I  have  found  a  strong  side-light  thrown  on  his 
picture  in  this  passage  of  M.  de  Lescure  in  his 
Lettres  d' Amour  de  Henri  IV,  "  Nous  avons 
compte  jusqu'  a  cinquante-six  maitresses,  dont 
il  existe  des  traces  authentiques ;  mais  la  plu- 
part  etaient  des  maitresses  de  hasard,  d'occasion, 
de  passade." 

It  is  the  privilege  of  the  historian  to  sketch 
the  daring  and  skilful  soldier  who  won  for  the 
Huguenot  cause  its  only  successes  in  the  field, 
achieving  brilliant  victories  where  great  Coligny 
had  but  sustained  heroic  reverses;  the  wise 
ruler  who,  in  an  age  of  bigotry,  superior  to 
dogma,  gave  to  his  distracted  country  the  bless- 
ings of  peace  and  union  under  his  broad  edict  of 
toleration;  the  far-seeing  statesman  who,  amid 
the  ceaseless  clash  of  arms,  dreamed  of  a 
European  Federation,  the  forerunner  of  uni- 
versal disarmament  and  a  "  parliament  of  man;  " 
the  king  who,  a  democrat  at  heart,  founded  the 
line  of  Bourbon  absolutists.  That  this  man  of 
commanding  genius,  in  so  many  aspects  noble 
and  high-hearted,  as  wholly  devoid  of  malice  or 
vi 


Introduction 

resentment  as  he  was  cynically  indifferent  to 
creed,  was  on  one  side  pitifully  weak,  even  his 
warmest  admirers  must  admit.  Unhappily,  it  is 
chiefly  with  this  side  that  the  present  narrative 
is  concerned.  It  is  not  Henry  the  Great,  but 
Henry  the  Lover,  who  appears  in  the  following 
pages. 

THE  EDITOR. 


Vll 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER   THE   FIRST 

PAGE 

How  a  jolly  wood-cutter,  having  talked  himself  into  the 
favor  of  a  certain  lady's  maids,  founds  a  Triple  Alli- 
ance of  which  we  shall  hear  more I 


CHAPTER  THE   SECOND 

How  the  King  of  Navarre  receives  certain  tidings  vastly 
encouraging  to  his  hopes  in  more  than  one  direction  .  26 

CHAPTER  THE   THIRD 

How  Jean  Fourcade,  on  his  way  to  the  sea,  comes  to  the 
Mermaid  and  meets  one  William  Shakespeare,  who 
saves  him  from  burning 31 

CHAPTER  THE   FOURTH 

How  Jean  Fourcade,  sailing  with  Drake  to  fight  the 
Invincible  Armada,  witnesses  his  famous  method  of 
"  Singeing  the  Spanish  King's  beard  ".»...  44 

CHAPTER  THE   FIFTH 

How  the  King  of  Navarre,  following  love's  light,  encoun- 
ters a  Ghost  and  lays  it 67 

CHAPTER  THE   SIXTH 

How  Gabrielle  d'Estrees,  picking  wild  flowers  in  the 
wood,  gets  a  glimpse  of  the  Magic  Fleur-de-lis  and 

straightway  falls  under  its  glamour 86 

ix 


Contents 


CHAPTER  THE   SEVENTH 

PACK 

How  the  Sieur  d'Estrees  unwittingly  binds  faster  the 
spell  of  the  Fleur-de-lis,  and  how  Louis  de  Bellegarde, 
coming  to  the  chateau  of  Coeuvres  in  quest  of  his 
heart,  finds  its  keeper  enchanted  and  his  heart  shiver- 
ing in  the  cold 98 

CHAPTER  THE  EIGHTH 

How  Henry  of  Guise  makes  love  while  Henry  of  France 
makes  prayers,  and  how  each  fares  to  his  heart's 
desire 109 

CHAPTER  THE   NINTH 

How  Gaston  d'Estrees,  coming  to  his  sister  as  love's 
advocate,  does  a  fool's  errand  and  helps  to  bind  faster 
the  magic  spell 119 


CHAPTER  THE   TENTH 

How  a  lady  who  has  failed  to  fascinate  a  king  fares  with 
a  monk 129 

CHAPTER  THE   ELEVENTH 

How  Louis  de  Bellegarde,  coming  again  to  plead  his  love, 
unknowingly  works  the  spell  of  the  Fleur-de-lis  and 
leaves  Gabrielle  entranced  with  the  vision  ....  138 


CHAPTER  THE   TWELFTH 
How  Jean  Fourcade  receives  a  startling  commission  .    .     160 

CHAPTER  THE  THIRTEENTH 

How  Jean  Fourcade  finds  a  mortal  enemy  whose  presence 

is  more  precious  than  the  dearest  friend's 165 

X 


Contents 


CHAPTER  THE   FOURTEENTH 

PACK 

How,  Gabrielle  walking  in  the  wood  and  dreaming  of  the 
Fleur-de-lis,  it  suddenly  appears  and  affrights  her  .     .    173 


CHAPTER  THE   FIFTEENTH 

How  Gabrielle,  having  summoned  courage,  will  fain  pluck 
the  Fleur-de-lis,  but  clasps  a  thorn  and  is  rudely 
pricked 185 


CHAPTER  THE   SIXTEENTH 
How  the  King  laughs  best  because  he  laughs  last  .    .    .    197 

CHAPTER  THE   SEVENTEENTH 

How  hate  and  revenge,  for  once,  serve  a  good  purpose, 
and  how  Jean  Fourcade  denies  himself  his  heart's 
desire  at  the  cost  of  another's  peace 205 

CHAPTER  THE   EIGHTEENTH 

How  the  King  visits  a  lady  who  makes  light  of  the  magic 
spell,  but  haply  meets  another  who  adores  it ....  220 

CHAPTER  THE  NINETEENTH 

How  one  who  is  too  old  to  love  decides  that  he  is  not  too 
old  to  marry  —  for  a  consideration 228 

CHAPTER  THE  TWENTIETH 

How  the  lady  who  laughs  at  the  spell  gently  warns 
Gabrielle  of  the  grievous  ill  that  is  wont  to  betide 

damsels  dreaming  of  the  Fleur-de-lis 238 

xi 


Contents 

CHAPTER  THE   TWENTY-FIRST 

PAGE 

How  Gabrielle  meets  the  Fleur-de-lis  secretly  and,  dazzled 
by  its  brilliancy,  makes  a  fool's  bargain,  whereupon 
she  is  much  elated  at  her  shrewdness 255 

CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-SECOND 

How  the  Last  Enemy  of  All  appears  as  Jean  Fourcade's 
friend 267 

CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-THIRD 

How  Gabrielle,  beginning  to  be  disenchanted,  rues  her 
bargain  and  is  exceeding  sore  and  sorrowful,  until 
she  is  comforted  by  the  coming  of  him  whom  she 
loves 281 

CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-FOURTH 

How  the  King  gives  Gaston  high  promotion,  whereat  he 
is  much  elated,  and  how  another  schemes  to  bring  his 
pride  to  a  fall 295 

CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-FIFTH 
How  Jean  Fourcade  finds  his  Sophie 301 

CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-SIXTH 

How  Louis  de  Bellegarde,  thinking  to  win  Gabrielle, 
helps  to  make  her  bargain  fast 312 

CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-SEVENTH 

How  Gabrielle,  seeking  to  follow  her  heart,  finds  that  her 
bargain  binds 321 


XII 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

From  Drawings  by  Clyde  O.  De  Land 

"SHE  WAS  ON  HER  KNEES  IN  PITIFUL  ABASE- 
MENT"   Frontispiece 

"THE  STORY  AND  THE  MANNER  OF  ITS  TELLING 

MADE  A  POEM Page  II 

"ONE  DAY  HENRY  PRODUCED  A  LUTE"      ...      96 
"PEACEFUL  AS  AN  INFANT  LAY  ANG£LIQUE  DE 

REBOURS" 278 


King  or  Knave 

PART   I 

CHAPTER  THE   FIRST 

How  a  jolly  wood-cutter,  having  talked  himself  into  the 
favor  of  a  certain  lady's  maids,  founds  a  Triple 
Alliance  of  which  we  shall  hear  more. 

"  DID  you  notice  that  queer-looking  fel- 
low ?  "  said  one  of  two  well-mounted  cavaliers 
who  jogged  easily  on  the  road  leading  from 
Saint  Jean  d'Angely  to  Poitiers.  He  turned  in 
his  saddle  to  look  at  a  woodman  who  was  go- 
ing in  the  opposite  direction  with  a  quick 
stride. 

"  Pardieu !  "  he  continued,  "  it  seems  to  me 
I  have  seen  that  face  somewhere  and  not  under 
a  fagot  either.  Death  of  my  life !  I  will  ques- 
tion him." 

Thereupon  he  wheeled  his  horse  and  was 
riding  after  the  footman.  But  his  companion, 
who  was  older  and  very  stout,  called  after  him 
peevishly,  "  Oh,  to  the  devil  with  your  fancies, 
Mercceur !  You  are  always  imagining  God 
knows  what.  How  could  you  possibly  have 
seen  his  face  under  that  immense  fagot? " 
i  i 


King  or  Knave 

Then,  as  the  other  stopped  his  horse  hesitat- 
ingly, he  added  impatiently,  "  Come  on,  I  tell 
you.  While  you  are  fooling  here  on  the  road, 
dinner  will  be  getting  burned.  Sacre  Dieu ! 
If  there  is  anything  that  grieves  me,  it  is  an 
over-done  capon,  all  his  fine  juices  gone  up  the 
chimney,  to  feed  spirits,  I  suppose." 

"  Oh,  dinner  be  damned !  "  exclaimed  the 
younger  man.  Nevertheless,  he  rejoined  his 
companion,  and  the  two  rode  on. 

"  You  are  always  thinking,"  said  the  first 
speaker  sulkily,  "  of  lining  that  over-fed  paunch. 
No  wonder  that  His  Holiness,  when  he  heard 
that  you  would  command  the  army  of  the 
League,  said  that  while  you  would  make  a 
meal,  Navarre  would  make  a  march." 

"  A  devilish  nice  remark  that  is  to  be  repeated 
by  a  younger  brother  and  subordinate,"  growled 
the  object  of  the  Pope's  sarcasm.  "  Moreover, 
what  does  His  Holiness  know  about  the  mat- 
ter ?  The  chair  of  Saint  Peter  is  the  highest 
authority  on  points  of  theology,  and  in  some 
instances  has  shown  a  very  creditable  judgment 
in  wine  and  women.  But  when  it  is  a  question 
of  men,  bah!  that  is  another  story." 

Meanwhile  the  woodman  strode  sturdily  on. 
A  queer-looking  fellow  he  was  indeed.  Of 
medium  stature,  his  frame  was  supple  and 
sinewy,  his  limbs  well  set,  and  he  walked  with 
the  springy  step  of  one  to  whom  fatigue  was 
unknown,  albeit  his  bowed  legs  suggested  that 
they  were  more  at  home  in  gripping  the  flanks 

2 


King  or  Knave 

of  a  horse  than  in  carrying  their  owner  on  the 
humble  tasks  of  a  wood-cutter.  His  coarse 
blouse  and  clumsy  wooden  sabots,  the  axe  on 
his  shoulder,  and  the  weight  of  the  fagot  which 
he  carried  on  his  head,  steadying  it  with  his  left 
hand,  could  not  conceal  his  elastic  step  and 
erect,  bold  carriage. 

But  most  notable  of  all  was  a  physiognomy 
at  once  homely  and  fascinating.  A  nose  pro- 
nouncedly aquiline,  towards  which  the  chin  rose 
aspiringly,  gave  to  the  lower  part  of  the  face  a 
ludicrous  expression,  as  of  a  caricature  of  tooth- 
less old  age.  This  defect  was  only  partially  con- 
cealed by  a  full  jet-black  beard  and  a  flowing 
moustache,  turned  up  at  the  ends.  But  what 
the  lower  features  lacked  in  dignity,  was  more 
than  compensated  by  the  marvellous  eyes,  large, 
liquid,  and  lustrous,  capable  of  an  infinite  range 
of  expression.  A  massive  dome  of  a  forehead, 
surmounted  by  thick,  curly  black  locks,  com- 
pleted a  physiognomy  so  striking  that,  even 
overshadowed  by  the  great  fagot  which  he  bore, 
it  could  not  fail  to  arrest  attention. 

"  Ventre-saint-gris !  "  he  said  gayly  to  himself, 
"  that  was  a  perilous  encounter.  But  for  this 
blessed  fagot,  surely  Mercceur  would  have  rec- 
ognized me.  Perhaps  his  Excellency  of  May- 
enne  scented  his  dinner  afar.  Then  no  affair  of 
less  moment,  not  even  a  battle,  could  delay  him. 
My  faith !  if  they  had  been  keener,  it  would 
have  cost  me,  to  buy  my  freedom,  many  times 
over  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  pistoles  that  I  won 
3 


King  or  Knave 

from  Mercceur  the  last  game  that  we  played 
together,  —  ah,  let  me  see,  some  twelve  years 
ago,  —  if  indeed  my  loving  brother-in-law  and 
my  guileless  mother-in-law  would  consent  to  any 
other  release  for  me  than  that  of  the  soul  from 
the  body." 

After  a  while  the  jolly  wood-cutter  turned 
from  the  highway  into  a  wide  avenue  fronted 
by  an  ancient  chateau.  Then  he  threw  down 
his  burden  by  the  roadside,  removed  his  coarse 
cap,  flattened  by  the  load  which  it  had  borne, 
and  pulled  it  into  better  shape.  He  ran  his 
hand  through  his  curly  black  locks,  and  then,  to 
wipe  his  moist  forehead,  drew  forth  from  an 
inner  pocket  a  fine  white  handkerchief,  daintily 
embroidered.  As  he  shook  it  out,  it  emitted  a 
delicate  perfume.  This  touched  a  chord  of 
memory.  He  held  up  the  article,  snuffed  the 
subtle  fragrance,  and  then,  with  a  sigh,  muttered, 
"  One  of  la  belle  Corisande's  latest  gifts.  Dear 
soul !  If  she  had  not  grown  so  fat !  —  but  what 
can  a  man  do?  He  can't  bind  his  affections 
fast  to  one  woman  for  all  time.  That  were  to 
make  love  as  irksome  as  marriage.  And,  as  the 
poet  says,  '  Tempora  mutantur,  et  nos  mutamur 
in  illis.'  Ah,  well ! "  As  if  to  cut  off  further 
reflection,  he  quickly  wiped  his  forehead,  swung 
his  axe  on  his  shoulder,  and  resumed  his  way. 

Arrived  at  the  chateau,  our  wood-cutter  passed 
around  to  the  rear  and  knocked  at  the  kitchen- 
door.     It  was  opened  by  a  man  in  white  cap 
and  apron  who  eyed  the  stranger  disdainfully. 
4 


King  or  Knave 

"  May  I  rest  me  a  while  here  ?  "  asked  the 
latter,  in  the  broadest  Gascon  accent. 

"  No.  Away  with  you,  and  be  damned  !  " 
cried  the  Cerberus  of  the  kitchen.  Then  he 
added,  "  There  is  no  room  here  for  a  lazy  Gas- 
con varlet  Go  to  the  camp  of  the  Bearnais. 
All  the  riff-raff  of  the  South  country  is  gathered 
there."  Then  he  slammed  the  door  in  the  new- 
comer's face. 

Quite  undisturbed,  the  traveller  knocked 
again.  The  door  was  thrown  violently  open 
once  more  by  the  white-capped  man.  His  eyes 
blazed  at  the  sight  of  the  same  intruder. 

"  A  plague  on  the  beggarly  dog  !  Did  I  not 
order  you  away?" 

Then  he  advanced,  as  if  to  strike  the  other. 
But  something  in  the  stranger's  eye,  together 
with  the  sight  of  the  glittering  axe-blade, 
checked  him.  At  the  same  time  a  stout,  comely 
woman  came  up  behind  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder. 

"Nay,  Barbezoux,"  she  said,  laying  a  hand, 
plump  and  brown,  on  the  chief  cook's  arm,  "  let 
the  fellow  in.  It  fairly  tickles  my  ears  to  hear 
the  old  Gascon  speech.  If  he  is  a  true  Gascon, 
I  '11  warrant  you  he  has  the  free  use  of  his  tongue. 
Give  him  a  chance,  and  his  lies  will  flow  so  easily 
and  so  fast  that,  if  for  once  he  blunders  into  the 
truth,  you  won't  have  time  to  notice  it." 

The  stout  dame's  influence  with  Barbezoux 
was   more  potent  than  his  charity.     He  drew 
back   reluctantly   and    admitted    the    stranger. 
5 


King  or  Knave 

The  latter  stepped  in  with  the  same  jaunty  air 
as  if  he  had  received  the  most  cordial  greeting. 

The  room  was  large  and  low,  ill-lighted  by 
two  small  windows.  Its  most  cheerful  feature 
was  a  wide  fire-place,  in  which  smouldered  a 
few  embers.  In  the  chimney-corner  a  man  in 
bespattered  hose  sat  dozing,  while  a  tired  hound 
slept  at  his  feet.  A  fellow  sitting  astride  a 
wooden  bench  had  in  front  of  him  a  falcon 
which  he  was  training.  He  glanced  uncon- 
cernedly over  his  shoulder  at  the  new-comer  and 
continued  his  occupation.  In  the  farthest  cor- 
ner a  stripling  in  page's  attire,  with  a  nascent 
moustache,  was  conversing  in  low  tones  with  a 
pretty  and  coquettish  maid. 

"Well,  comrade,  what  have  you  to  say  for 
yourself?  "  said  the  stout  dame,  planting  herself 
before  the  stranger,  arms  akimbo,  her  sleeves 
rolled  up  to  the  elbow,  displaying  large  but 
shapely  limbs,  smooth  and  brown. 

"  That  I  know  a  fine  woman,  when  I  see  one," 
was  the  prompt  reply,  accompanied  by  a  courtly 
bow. 

This  bold  sally  set  the  jolly  dame  laughing. 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried  merrily,  "  did  not  I  truly 
say  that  you  would  prove  yourself  a  genuine 
Gascon  by  your  lies?" 

Nevertheless,  what  woman  is  insensible  to 
homage  paid  to  her  charms?  Ere  many  min- 
utes the  dark  goddess  of  the  kitchen  had  been 
so  won  by  the  stranger's  gallant  and  sprightly 
talk  that  he  found  himself  seated  before  a  huge 
6 


King  or  Knave 

loaf  of  bread  and  a  smoked  beef's  tongue, 
flanked  by  a  great  flagon  of  red  wine.  Mean- 
while his  hostess,  seated  opposite,  her  elbows 
planted  on  the  table,  the  sleeves  still  rolled  up, 
rollicked  in  the  Southern  patois,  long  unfamiliar 
to  her  tongue,  but  dear  to  her  memory. 

While  the  traveller's  sallies  and  repartees  drew 
from  the  stout  dame  incessant  peals  of  laughter, 
and  his  gallant  badinage  tickled  her  vanity,  the 
hawker  gave  an  occasional  keen  glance  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  entertaining  stranger,  even  the 
absorbed  young  couple  paused  at  times,  to  catch 
the  passing  jest,  and  Barbezoux's  brow  grew 
visibly  darker. 

The  jolly  wood-cutter,  when  he  had  finished 
his  repast,  threw  himself  back  in  the  attitude  of 
one  entirely  at  his  ease,  his  legs  stretched  out 
before  him. 

"  Ma  belle,"  said  he,  "  you  have  cared  for  me 
most  hospitably.  Without  hearing  you  speak, 
I  could  have  sworn  that  you  are  from  the  South. 
You  have  the  easy  manners  and  the  kind  heart 
of  the  South." 

"  A  thousand  thanks !  "  laughed  the  dame. 
"  But,  my  faith !  what  a  flatterer  you  are !  " 

"  Not  the  least  bit  of  a  flatterer,  I  assure  you. 
In  my  country  they  call  me  '  Truthful  Henry.' 
By  the  way,  you  have  not  told  me  to  what 
province  you  belong." 

"  My  faith  !     I  come  from  Roussillon." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  charming.  Roussillon  is  famed 
for  its  beautiful  women,"  said  he,  with  a  bow  to 
7 


King  or  Knave 

his  hostess,  "and  for  its  old  romances.  Of 
course  you  know  the  story  of  the  Countess  of 
Roussillon  and  the  Count  of  Provence." 

"Eh!  What?"  exclaimed  the  woman,  "I 
never  have  heard  it." 

"Do  you  tell  me  that  you,  a  Roussillonaise, 
do  not  know  that  story  in  which  all  true  lovers 
delight?" 

"  Oh,  if  it  is  a  love-story,  I  must  hear  it.  TelJ 
it  to  me,  I  pray  you." 

"In  the  olden  time,  long  ago,"  began  the 
stranger,  without  more  ado,  "  there  was  a  Count 
of  Roussillon  who  had  a  very  charming  wife. 
He  had  also  a  friend,  like  himself  very  renowned 
in  arms,  Gardastain,  Count  of  Provence.  Through 
their  meeting  often,  there  sprang  up  a  warm  at- 
tachment between  this  Gardastain  and  his  friend's 
beautiful  wife.  It  was  not  long  before  their 
secret  meetings  became  known  to  the  Count  of 
Roussillon.  But,  being  by  nature  crafty  and 
treacherous,  he  did  not  let  it  be  seen  that  he  so 
much  as  suspected  their  love.  He  was  biding 
his  time. 

"  Then  it  chanced  that  proclamation  was  made 
of  a  great  tournament  to  be  held  in  the  borders 
of  Provence.  Thereupon  the  Count  of  Roussillon 
sent  an  invitation  to  Gardastain  to  come  to  his 
castle  on  the  next  day,  to  consult  about  the 
tournament ;  and  his  friend  returned  word  that 
he  would  surely  come  on  the  morrow  for  supper. 

"  The  next  day  the  Count  of  Roussillon  put 
on  a  full  suit  of  mail  and,  with  a  half-dozen  men- 
8 


King  or  Knave 

at-arms,  took  the  road  for  the  other's  castle. 
They  hid  themselves  in  a  dark  wood ;  and  when 
he  saw  Gardastain  approaching,  alone  and  un- 
armed, he  dashed  out  suddenly  upon  him  and 
ran  him  through  with  his  lance.  Then  he  dis- 
mounted, raised  his  visor,  and,  showing  his  face 
to  the  dying  man,  continued  to  revile  him  with 
every  insulting  epithet  so  long  as  life  lasted. 
Afterwards  he  ripped  open  Gardastain's  body, 
cut  out  his  heart,  and  carried  it  home  with  him, 
wrapped  in  the  banderole  of  a  lance.  When  he 
had  reached  his  castle,  he  said  to  his  head-cook, 
'  Take  this  heart  of  a  wild  boar  and  serve  it  in 
your  most  appetizing  fashion  for  supper  this 
evening.'  When  his  wife  asked  why  Gardastain 
had  not  come  with  him,  he  answered  that  his 
friend  would  appear  the  next  day. 

"  At  supper  the  count  did  not  taste  of  the 
dainty  ragout  which  the  cook  had  made  of  the 
heart.  But  the  lady  ate  freely  of  it.  When  she 
had  finished  her  meal,  her  husband  asked  how 
she  liked  the  dish. 

"  '  I  have  enjoyed  it  greatly,'  she  said. 

41 '  You  needs  must,'  said  he,  '  as  you  loved  it 
so  intensely  while  it  lived.' 

"  '  What  do  you  mean? '  asked  the  lady,  dum- 
founded. 

" '  I  mean,'  he  answered,  '  that  you  have  eaten 
the  heart  of  the  perfidious  Gardastain,  whom  you 
shamefully  loved.  What  fitter  food  could  one 
find  for  a  false  wife?  ' 

"  The  lady  was  stricken  mute  with  horror. 
9 


King  or  Knave 

When  she  recovered  her  speech,  she  said,  '  You 
have  acted  the  base  and  cowardly  assassin  that 
you  are.  Gardastain  deserved  a  better  fate. 
He  never  forced  my  love.  Freely  I  gave  it  to 
him,  because  he  was  a  great  and  noble  soul,  the 
truest  knight  that  ever  breathed  ;  and  now,  since 
I  have  eaten  so  precious  a  viand,  it  would  be 
unseemly  to  mix  it  with  baser  food.  Moreover, 
I  shall  be  happier  with  him  in  death  than  living 
with  his  murderer.' 

"Thereupon  the  lady  left  the  table.  From 
that  day  forth  no  force,  nor  yet  persuasion,  could 
induce  her  to  take  a  morsel  of  food.  Then  her 
husband,  to  break  her  spirit,  shut  her  up  in  a 
high  tower.  One  morning,  when  her  maid  came, 
the  room  was  empty.  The  fair  lady's  body  lay 
crushed  on  the  stones  below.  She  had  been  so 
impatient  to  join  her  lover  that  she  could  not 
endure  the  slow  death  of  starvation." 

"  Ah,  the  poor  lady !  "  exclaimed  the  Pro- 
vencale,  tears  starting  to  her  eyes. 

"Then,"  continued  the  stranger,  "the  Count 
of  Roussillon  was  rilled  with  dismay  and  fled. 
But  the  kinsfolk  of  his  wife  and  of  Gardastain 
took  up  her  body  and  with  great  state  laid  it 
beside  that  of  her  lover  in  one  tomb  and  raised 
over  them  a  monument  commemorating  the 
virtues  of  this  ill-fated  pair  and  the  manner  of 
their  death.  And  to  this  day  lovers  are  wont  to 
make  pilgrimage  to  their  tomb,  in  the  chapel  of 
Roussillon,  and  lay  flowers  upon  it  and  there 
renew  their  vows  of  eternal  fidelity." 
10 


King  or  Knave 

The  story  and  the  manner  of  its  telling  made 
a  poem.  The  narrator,  his  voice  now  low  and 
impassioned,  then  swelling  with  anger,  his  eyes 
now  melting,  then  sparkling,  might  have  been  a 
troubadour  of  old  Provence. 

The  young  couple  had  come  near  and,  their 
hands  stealing  together,  had  thrilled  with  emo- 
tion. The  hawker  had  turned  from  his  bird. 
Even  Barbezoux,  filled  though  he  was  with 
envious  rage,  could  not  refrain  from  being  an 
eager  listener.  But  the  most  appreciative  hearer 
was  the  dark  daughter  of  Roussillon,  Diana 
Bouvary.  Strong  in  her  blood  was  the  old 
poetic  feeling  of  the  South.  The  tale  had  thrilled 
generations  of  her  ancestors.  When  it  ended, 
she  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Dame !  "  she  cried,  "  but  that  was  a  true 
love!  What  think  you  of  it,  Barbezoux?" 

The  Jupiter  of  this  petty  Olympus,  thinking 
all  the  while  unutterable  things  of  jealous  fury, 
could  only  express  his  feelings  in  an  explosive 
oath  and  by  violently  thumping  a  pan  with 
which  he  busied  himself. 

Heedless  of  his  anger,  the  object  of  his  pas- 
sion fixed  her  eyes  in  undisguised  admiration 
on  the  gifted  woodman.  What  a  wonderful 
fellow  he  was,  surely !  Suddenly  a  thought 
came  to  her. 

"  Do  you  know,  Lisette,"  she  said,  turning  to 

the  pretty  maid,  who  had  scarcely  yet  recovered 

from  her  ecstasy,  and  was  staring  wide-eyed  at 

the  story-teller,  "  I  believe  that  the  young  mis- 

ii 


King  or  Knave 

tress  would  be  pleased  to  see  this  woodman, 
and  hear  him  talk?  He  is  as  good  as  one  of 
the  troubadours  that  we  have  heard  of." 

"  God's  bones,  Diana !  You  go  too  far  with 
your  silliness,"  savagely  burst  out  Barbezoux, 
"  You  have  said  enough  already  to  turn  the 
beggar's  head.  Better  put  him  out  of  doors 
and  let  him  go  on  and  see  whether  he  will 
sponge  his  next  meal  so  easily.  God's  blood ! 
He  will  tramp  many  a  long  day,  I  dare  be 
sworn,  before  he  will  find  another  woman  so 
soft." 

His  goddess  took  not  the  least  notice  of  this 
explosion. 

"  Go,  Lisette,"  she  said,  "  and  tell  the  young 
mistress  that  here  is  a  marvellously  entertaining 
fellow,  better  than  any  minstrel  that  ever  I  have 
heard.  I  believe,  on  my  soul,  she  will  be  glad 
enough  to  have  him  wile  away  an  hour  for 
her." 

The  maid  disappeared  and  quickly  returned 
with  a  summons  for  the  stranger.  The  latter 
followed  his  guide  with  alacrity  and  was  speedily 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  young  chite- 
laine.  She  received  him  with  a  nod  of  gracious 
condescension,  while  he  bowed  low  and  stood  at 
a  respectful  distance,  yet  with  the  same  air  of 
imperturbable  confidence  which  he  had  worn  in 
the  kitchen,  while  his  eyes  seemed  to  pay 
homage  to  her  beauty. 

She  was  indeed  a  creature  of  marvellous 
charm.  Her  slight  figure  was  rounded  with 
12 


King  or  Knave 

those  graceful  curves  which  nature  bestows 
only  on  her  most  favored  daughters.  A  profu- 
sion of  silky  hair,  golden  in  hue,  rolled  back 
from  her  temples  and  gathered  in  a  fleecy  mass 
on  the  top  of  her  head,  set  off  admirably  her 
finely  moulded  oval  countenance,  which  glowed 
with  the  color  of  perfect  health  shining  through 
her  clear  skin.  Eyebrows  somewhat  darker 
than  her  hair,  and  pencilled  as  by  an  artist's 
hand,  surmounted  mirthful  eyes  of  deep  blue. 
Her  mouth,  with  its  delicately  chiselled  lips, 
closed,  looked  like  a  dewy  rosebud.  Opened  in 
smiling,  it  showed  teeth  of  dazzling  whiteness. 
Picture  to  yourself  a  nose  of  slightly  aquiline 
cast,  with  fine  and  sensitive  nostrils ;  a  perfectly 
rounded  chin ;  a  throat  smooth  and  white  as  an 
alabaster  column,  on  which  the  head  was  poised 
with  the  airy  grace  of  a  dove's ;  ears  delicate  in 
shape  and  tint  as  sea-shells,  from  whose  lobes 
hung  pendants  of  pearl ;  hands  small,  white,  and 
taper,  one  of  them  continually  toying  with  a  gold 
chain  which  encircled  her  neck,  —  and  you  will 
complete  the  portrait  of  the  famous  daughter  of 
the  Sieur  d'Estrees,  Baron  of  Cceuvres. 

When  she  had  surveyed  the  stranger  a 
moment  or  two  with  an  air  of  some  perplexity, 
she  addressed  him  in  a  voice  of  singular  melody : 

"  My  maid  tells  me  that  you  are  marvellously 
entertaining  in  relating  romances  of  old  days. 
I  wonder  at  such  a  talent  in  a  woodman.  How 
came  you  by  it?  " 

"  My  youth,  fair  demoiselle,  was  nourished  on 
13 


King  or  Knave 

tales  of  brave  knights  and  beautiful  ladies," 
answered  the  stranger,  with  a  courtly  inclination 
and  an  accent  which  was  only  Southern  enough 
to  give  it  a  certain  piquant  charm. 

No  sooner  did  the  beautiful  Gabrielle  hear  the 
voice,  than  her  puzzled  look  gave  place  to  one 
of  keen  intelligence,  and  her  eyes  lighted  up 
with  suppressed  mirth. 

"  Lisette,  you  need  not  wait,"  she  said. 

The  maid  retired  with  evident  disappointment. 

Then,  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  her  eyes,  she 
turned  to  the  stranger  and  said,  "  Now,  Mon- 
sieur Woodcutter,  may  it  please  you  to  favor 
me  with  one  of  those  romantic  tales  with  which 
it  seems  that  your  youth  has  been  fed  in  your 
humble  native  cot?" 

"  Pardon  me,  fair  lady,"  answered  the  other, 
bowing  low  and  laying  his  hand  over  his  heart 
in  most  approved  courtier-fashion,  "  why  should 
I  resort  to  ancient  tales  of  fair  women,  when  the 
most  peerless  beauty  of  all  ages  inspires  me  ?  My 
only  trouble  is  that  my  tongue  is  paralyzed  in  the 
presence  of  charms  before  which  all  others  fade 
as  surely  as  the  morning  star  before  the  sun." 

"  My  faith  !  "  cried  the  lady,  with  a  merry  peal 
of  laughter,  "  your  poor  paralyzed  tongue  does 
fairly  well.  God  save  me  from  experiencing  its 
full  vigor !  I  much  fear  that  it  is  one  of  those 
guileful  tongues,  Monsieur  Woodcutter,  that  are 
often  employed  in  wooing  trusting  maids  to 
their  woe." 

The  other  acknowledged  the  compliment  with 


King  or  Knave 

a  profound  inclination,  with  a  slight  gesture  of 
deprecation. 

By  this  time  all  pretence  of  disguise  was  laid 
aside,  and  the  two  were  eying  each  other  with 
full  recognition  and  mutual  intelligence. 

"  Come,  Monsieur  Woodman,  be  seated,"  said 
the  lady. 

He  came  forward,  drew  a  chair,  and  sat  down 
opposite  and  near  her. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  continued,  "  at  your  hardi- 
hood in  coming  here  a  second  time.  Who 
would  have  dreamed  of  seeing  you,  and  in  such 
a  disguise?" 

"  Love,  adorable  Gabrielle,  wings  his  arrows 
whithersoever  he  will,  and  this  coarse  blouse 
covers  a  wound  which  only  yourself  can  cure. 
I  am  come  to  crave  healing  at  your  hands." 

"  Love  indeed  !  You  lose  no  time,  Monsieur 
Woodman.  Surely  it  is  full  early  to  talk  of  love, 
when  as  yet  we  scarcely  know  each  other." 

"  I  scarcely  know  you  !  I  who  know  only  you  ! 
I  who  since  I  met  you  have  seen  your  form  in 
every  flower,  your  eyes  in  every  star,  have  heard 
your  voice  in  every  breeze  !  I  who  have  breathed 
my  vows  to  you  a  thousand  times  in  my  waking 
moments,  and  in  my  dreams  have  been  blest  with 
your  presence,  as  of  an  angel !  " 

The  girl  paled  perceptibly  at  this  outburst. 
Then  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  serious  expostulation, 

"  But  what  a  fearful  risk  you  run !  Do  you 
know  how  near  is  the  Duke  of  Mayenne's 
army?" 


King  or  Knave 

"  I  surely  do,  since  I  encountered  him  as  I 
came  hither." 

"My  God!  What  a  peril!  How  did  you 
escape  him?  " 

"  I  carried  on  my  head  an  immense  fagot 
which  completely  hid  my  face,  and  as  to  the 
rest,"  glancing  humorously  at  his  coarse  habili- 
ments and  heavy  clogs,  "  you  will  admit  that  my 
disguise  is  fairly  complete." 

"  But  such  a  risk !  Had  he  recognized  you, 
what,  think  you,  would  have  followed  ?  " 

"The  Bastile,  surely;  most  likely,  a  stirring 
bit  'of  work,  with  a  fat  fee,  for  black  Monsieur 
de  Paris." 

"  Strange  man !     And  yet  you  came? " 

"  Ah !  When  will  you  believe,  adorable 
Gabrielle,  how  little  I  prize  existence  apart  from 
you?  Did  not  the  hope  of  winning  you  bid  me 
live,  I  would  quickly  fling  away  my  life.  Why 
should  I,  a  soldier,  fear  death?  The  coward 
dies  a  thousand  times ;  a  brave  man  but  once. 
Had  I  died  in  seeking  your  presence,  I  should 
have  died  happy  in  the  thought  of  perishing  in 
your  service." 

Gabrielle  was  touched  by  the  evident  sincerity 
of  this  avowal.  She  mused  a  while,  her  face 
overcast  with  deep  thought,  as  if  embarrassed 
by  a  situation  so  unexpected. 

Meanwhile  her  suitor  devoured  her  with  his 
eyes.     He  had  moved  his  chair  very  near,  and 
every  breath,  deep  drawn,  seemed  laden  with 
passion,  as  he  gazed  at  her. 
16 


King  or  Knave 

Before  this  intense  ardor  Gabrielle  involunta- 
rily shrank.  Presently  she  spoke  in  a  voice  that 
was  cold  and  constrained. 

"  Surely,  Monsieur,  I  have  not  given  you  any 
grounds  for  speaking  thus.  You  will  remember 
how,  when  you  came  here  with  Monsieur  de 
Rocroix  and  began  to  make  fine  speeches,  I 
even  sought  to  check  you  with  jests." 

"  I  well  remember,  Mademoiselle,  that  you 
made  merry  at  my  expense.  I  am  homely, 
forsooth !  Nature  did  not  see  fit  to  cast  me  in 
an  elegant  mould.  But  you  will  recall,  perhaps, 
my  parting  words,  how  I  said  that  you  would 
soon  hear  what  great  things  I  should  do  for  the 
love  of  your  beautiful  eyes.  Already  I  have 
put  my  life  in  jeopardy  for  you.  And  yet  I 
have  but  made  a  beginning." 

"  Oh,  then,  in  God's  name,"  she  cried  with 
sudden  vehemence,  "  I  pray  you,  Monsieur,  let 
it  be  both  beginning  and  end.  For,  if  rumor 
speaks  truly  of  you,  the  end  is  wont  to  be 
but  one  thing  always,  —  a  woman's  ruin  and 
shame." 

"Alas,  that  I  should  need  to  defend  myself 
against  so  vile  a  slander !  "  exclaimed  the  other 
in  his  most  impassioned  tone,  raising  his  hand 
towards  heaven  in  solemn  protestation  of  his 
innocence,  "  I  whose  love  has  ever  been  true  as 
yonder  bright  sun  to  his  orbit !  Constancy  is 
my  vice.  And  yet  by  my  hope  of  Heaven,  I 
swear  to  you,  most  adorable  Gabrielle,  that  all 
love  that  ever  I  have  felt  before  this  has  been  as 
2  17 


King  or  Knave 

the  pale  glimmer  of  a  candle  to  this  glorious 
light.  See !  I  throw  myself  at  your  feet,  in 
token  of  my  life-long  devotion.  I  ask  no  greater 
boon  than  that  I  may  be  your  humblest  knight, 
and  may  wear  your  colors  on  my  helm,  even  as 
your  image  is  stamped  on  my  soul.  Deny  me 
your  love,  you  may.  But  you  cannot  withhold 
from  me  the  joy  of  serving  you  with  the  last 
throb  of  my  heart,  of  making  your  name  the 
rallying-cry  for  the  bravest  on  the  field  of 
battle,  and  dying  happy  in  giving  my  last 
thoughts  to  you." 

She  shrank  still  further  away,  pale  before  his 
passion,  and  withdrew  the  hand  of  which  he 
tried  to  possess  himself. 

"  My  God  !  How  you  frighten  me  with  your 
vehemence !  Rise,  I  pray  you,  Monsieur.  It 
ill  befits  you  to  kneel  to  me.  And  to  what  does 
all  this  lead?  You  speak  of  love.  What  can 
you  offer?  " 

"  The  truest  heart  in  Christendom,  a  good 
sword,  with  a  stout  arm  to  wield  it,  and  a  full 
share  of  such  honor  as  I  already  possess. 
These  in  the  present.  In  the  future,  an  open 
road  to  renown  and  to  the  summit  of  human 
ambition." 

"  Methinks,  if  you  could  throw  more  of  sub- 
stance into  the  present,  by  converting  your  rosy 
dreams  into  realities,  the  future  might  be  left  to 
take  care  of  itself,  and  you  would  also  have  a 
better  chance  of  being  heard.  Castles  in  the  air 
are  too  shadowy  an  estate  for  ordinary  folk." 
18 


King  or  Knave 

"Ah,  adorable  Gabrielle!  Such  a  conver- 
sion were  the  work  of  Divine  Providence. 
Come  you,  who  are  so  truly  divine,  and  be  my 
Providence.  The  age  of  miracles  will  return, 
and  future  glories  will  be  ours  in  immediate 
possession." 

"What  wild  rhapsody  is  this,  Monsieur?  I 
have  not  the  faith  in  my  divinity  which  you 
profess.  Indeed,  I  am  so  wholly  human  that 
my  happiness  depends  on  things  which  I  can 
see  and  touch.  Therefore,  not  being  an  enchan- 
tress, I  must  decline  the  role  to  which  you  in- 
vite me.  It  is  more  in  my  nature  to  deal  with 
accomplished  results." 

"  So  be  it,  Mademoiselle,  I  bow  to  your  will. 
I  must,  then,  go  forth  and  with  my  sword  win 
that  which  will  be  worthy  of  your  acceptance." 

"  As  you  will,  Monsieur.  I  offer  no  encour- 
agement, nor  hold  out  any  hope,"  said  the  lady, 
returning  to  her  former  sarcastic  manner.  "  But 
in  enumerating  the  splendors  which  you  offer, 
you  have  made  one  singular  omission.  You 
have  said  nothing  of  the  Church's  blessing." 

"  Ah,  Mademoiselle,"  replied  the  other,  with 
some  confusion,  "you  know  how  that  matter 
stands.  Surely  I  am  the  most  miserable  of 
mortals !  "  Then,  rallying  himself,  as  if  with  a 
sudden  inspiration,  he  added  quickly,  "But 
there  might  be  a  divorce,  you  know." 

"That  is  the  wildest  flight  of  fancy  that 
you  have  yet  ventured.  Imagine  His  Holiness 
granting  the  dissolution  of  a  legal  union  with 
19 


King  or  Knave 

one  daughter  of  the  Church,  in  order  to  pro- 
mote the  marriage  of  a  heretic  with  another 
daughter  of  the  Church !  Come  now,  Monsieur," 
she  added  with  bitter  irony,  "  let  us  consider  the 
bargain  which  you  propose.  I  am  asked  to 
sacrifice  my  good  name,  and  to  put  myself 
in  succession  to  Madame  de  Sauve,  and  the 
Rebours,  and  the  Fosseuse,  and  the  Countess  of 
Grammont,  and  I  know  not  how  many  besides,  to 
be  succeeded  in  my  turn  by  I  know  not  how  many 
more,  —  and  all  this  for  what?  For  a  beggarly 
place  in  the  present  and  golden  dreams  of  the 
future.  A  thousand  thanks,  Monsieur!  My 
father's  house  yields  honor  enough  for  me. 
And  should  nothing  better  offer  itself,  I  must 
even  content  myself,  like  your  friend,  the  Queen 
of  England,  to  live  and  die  a  maid.  Oh,  fie  upon 
you,  Monsieur,  for  a  needy  trader  who  would 
buy  a  diamond  for  a  handful  of  copper  coins 
and  a  mouthful  of  fine  words  !  I  am  but  a  poor 
merchant-woman,  but  I  have  lost  my  childish 
taste  for  glittering  bubbles." 

The  suitor  writhed  under  this  sarcasm,  but 
held  his  ground  bravely.  He  merely  bowed 
and  said,  "  So  be  it,  Mademoiselle.  I  shall 
come  again,  when  I  shall  have  more  in  hand  to 
offer  for  your  acceptance." 

"  Come  now,  Monsieur  Woodman,"  said  the 
lady,  in  a  lighter  vein,  "  let  us  forget  this  folly 
and  agree  that  we  have  spent  a  pleasant  half- 
hour  together,  but  that  now  the  cares  of  state 
call  you  away." 

20 


King  or  Knave 

"I  go,"  said  the  other,  rising.  "But  surely, 
beautiful  Gabrielle,  you  will  not  send  away  a 
man  who  has  come  hither  at  the  peril  of  his  life 
without  some  little  guerdon." 

"  Such  as  what,  for  instance?  " 

"  That  I  may  for  a  single  heavenly  moment 
press  your  hand." 

"No,  Monsieur;  not  so  much  as  to  touch 
it.  I  have  already  endured  enough  in  letting 
you  speak  to  me  as  you  have  spoken.  Be  gone 
quickly,  I  pray  you.  My  father  may  come  in 
at  any  moment.  He  will  be  incensed,  if  he  finds 
you  here.  When  he  heard  of  your  former  visit, 
he  frowned  darkly  and  said  he  hoped  you  would 
not  again  see  fit  to  honor  his  poor  house  with 
your  presence." 

"  It  grieves  me  to  refuse  you,  Mademoiselle, 
but  here  I  stay." 

" To  what  purpose? " 

"  To  the  end  which  I  have  named.  It  is  little 
to  you  that  I  ask,  but  a  world  to  me,  —  that  I 
may  touch  your  finger-tips." 

"  Madman  !  Do  you  know  what  you  are  do- 
ing? Every  moment  that  you  linger  here  com- 
promises me.  Should  my  father  find  you  here, 
disguised,  he  will  not  believe  but  that  you  have 
come  with  my  connivance.  And  as  for  the 
consequences  to  you,  I  cannot  answer  for  your 
life." 

"  That  is  a  poor  argument  to  use,  fair  Gabri- 
elle, with  one  who  daily  looks  death  in  the  face. 
And,  spurned  by  you,  what  care  I  for  life? 
21 


King  or  Knave 

See  !  I  am  unarmed.  Your  father's  sword  will 
find  an  easy  victim.  If,  by  denying  my  request, 
you  bid  me  stay,  I  shall  at  the  least  die  happy 
at  your  feet  and  under  your  eyes." 

"  What  insanity  is  this !  Your  head  has  been 
turned  by  the  romances  you  have  read.  Once 
more  I  beg  you,  Monsieur,  to  consider  my 
honor  and  to  go  hence  quickly." 

"It  is  for  you,  Mademoiselle,  to  send  me 
away  happy  as  a  god  or  to  keep  me  here, 
to  meet  the  danger  of  death.  I  await  your 
commands." 

"  Oh !  If  it  must  be,  dishonorable  man  !  " 
she  said,  flushing  with  anger. 

In  an  instant  her  suitor  seized  each  hand  in 
one  of  his  and,  kneeling,  covered  them  alter- 
nately with  hot  kisses,  until,  with  a  half-uttered 
cry,  she  wrenched  herself  away  and  stood  look- 
ing down  on  him  with  blazing  eyes. 

"  Ten  thousand  thanks !  "  he  cried,  rising 
from  his  knees  and  disregarding  her  anger. 
"  Now  I  go  forth  irresistible.  Adieu,  adorable 
Gabrielle !  When  I  return,  it  will  be  to  lay  the 
banners  of  a  conquered  army  at  your  feet." 

With  these  words  he  strode  from  the  room 
and  went  straight  out  at  the  front  door  of  the 
chateau. 

He  left  behind  him  allies  in  the  garrison  of 
whom  he  knew  not.  Lisette,  when  she  was  dis- 
missed by  the  young  lady,  had  gone  no  further 
than  the  outside  of  the  door.  There  she  stopped 
and,  with  her  ear  at  the  keyhole,  listened  with 
22 


King  or  Knave 

growing  excitement  to  all  that  was  said,  too 
keenly  intent  on  catching  every  word  to  go 
away  for  a  moment,  though  she  burned  with 
impatience  to  tell  her  story  to  her  fellows. 
When  the  stranger  took  his  departure,  she 
burst  into  the  kitchen  with  an  announcement 
which  at  once  set  its  occupants  agog  with  ex- 
citement. In  her  recital  the  picturesque  features 
of  the  interview  lost  nothing  of  their  interest. 

She  and  her  auditors  felt  strangely  exalted 
in  having  been  made,  all  unawares,  actors  in  a 
thrilling  drama  of  high  life.  That  the  first  act 
only  had  passed  was  evident,  for  Lisette  re- 
peated, with  theatrical  emphasis,  the  stranger's 
parting  words,  "  I  shall  come  again,  to  lay  the 
banners  of  a  conquered  army  at  your  feet." 

What  army?  Who  was  the  speaker  who 
promised  so  grandly?  On  these  interesting 
points  speculation  ran  high. 

"The  Duke  of  Mayenne,"  guessed  Gaspard, 
the  page. 

"  Nay,"  said  Diana,  "  that  cannot  be.  He  is 
a  great  feeder,  they  say,  and  as  big  as  a  hogs- 
head. This  gentleman  ate  sparingly ;  and,  God 
knows,  he  is  not  stout." 

"  I  believe  it  is  the  Bearnais,"  said  Lisette, 
with  decision,  feeling  herself  to  be  an  authority 
on  this  affair ;  "  they  say  he  has  a  passion  for 
adventures." 

"A  devil  of  a  fellow,  too,  for   love-affairs," 
chimed  in  Diana,  approvingly.      "  And  did  you 
notice  how  Gascon  he  talked?" 
23 


King  or  Knave 

"  Bah !  "  growled  Barbezoux,  "  that  Gascon 
accent  was  all  put  on  to  blind  you.  And  tell 
me,  pray,  how  the  Be"arnais  could  come  here, 
when  the  whole  royal  army  lies  in  his  road.  He 
is  at  the  least  ten  leagues  away  and  has  enough 
to  do  to  keep  his  skin  whole  and  his  tatterde- 
mallions  together,  without  roaming  the  country 
fooling  soft  women.  Egad !  Womenfolk  are 
always  imagining  impossible  things.  One  thing 
is  sure,  this  lout  belongs  to  the  King's  army." 

"The  Duke  of  Mercoeur,  perhaps,"  ventured 
the  page. 

This  theory  seemed  plausible.  So  much,  at 
all  events,  was  agreed  on,  the  mysterious  visitor 
was  of  the  highest  rank,  and  most  likely  was  one 
of  the  leaders  of  the  royal  army. 

Then  there  was  further  discussion  as  to  the 
reason  of  his  disguise  and  as  to  the  meaning  of 
the  references  to  a  divorce. 

"  Dame !  "  cried  Diana  triumphantly,  at  the 
first  lull  in  the  hot  debate,  "  I  knew,  the  moment 
I  clapped  these  two  eyes  upon  him,  that  he  was 
no  common  fellow,  —  no,  nor  a  bourgeois  nei- 
ther. I  know  a  gentleman  when  I  see  one. 
What  a  grand  manner  he  has,  to  be  sure !  And 
a  pretty  mess  you  would  have  made  of  it, 
Barbezoux,  with  your  ignorance,  driving  away 
a  prince  or  a  duke,  at  the  least,  as  if  he  were 
a  beggarly  vagrant !  " 

"  God's  blood !  A  pretty  mess  you  have 
made  of  it,  Diana,  letting  in  some  rake-hell 
who  would  n't  dare  to  come  here  openly.  I  '11 
24 


King  or  Knave 

warrant  you,  the  master  would  have  given  him 
short  shrift,  if  he  had  walked  in  upon  his  love- 
making.  Let  the  scurviest  villain  on  two  legs 
flatter  a  woman  smoothly,  and  he  is  a  hero, 
egad !  and  she  thinks  more  of  him  than  of  an 
honest  fellow  who  courts  her  fairly  and  opens 
his  purse  to  her  year  in  and  year  out,"  answered 
the  head-cook,  whose  jealous  wrath  had  lost 
nothing  by  being  smothered  for  a  time. 

This  explosion  produced  an  immediate  divis- 
ion. The  two  women  espoused  the  stranger's 
cause  warmly.  The  romance  of  the  affair  in- 
evitably enlisted  their  sympathy  in  his  behalf. 

On  the  other  hand,  Gaspard,  the  page,  in- 
censed at  the  warm  interest  which  a  new-comer 
had  immediately  gained  in  the  bosom  of  his 
adored,  joined  with  Barbezoux  in  railing  at 
woman's  inconstancy  and  her  susceptibility. 

But,  bluster  as  the  men  might,  they  were  the 
feebler  party,  and  they  knew  it.  Diana  and 
Lisette,  conscious  of  their  own  strength  in  the 
weakness  of  their  admirers,  awaited  with  zest 
the  next  step  in  the  mysterious  drama  which 
had  been  unexpectedly  revealed  to  them.  They 
were  willing,  if  opportunity  offered,  to  hasten 
the  next  scene. 


CHAPTER   THE   SECOND 

How  the  King  of  Navarre  receives  certain  tidings  vastly 
encouraging  to  his  hopes  in  more  than  one  direction. 

THE  sun  hung  low  in  the  western  sky  when 
Gabrielle's  suitor  emerged  from  the  chateau  of 
Coeuvres  and  took  the  road  by  which  he  had 
come. 

"  Not  bad  for  a  beginning,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  Plainly  this  is  not  a  fortress  to  be  taken 
by  storm,  but  by  siege,  —  a  long  one,  it  may  be. 
But  win  it  I  will,  by  Heaven !  What  a  beauty ! 
And  such  a  merry  laugh  !  Roguish  and  sarcas- 
tic, too.  Parbleu,  she  made  me  wince.  And 
a  devilish  shrewd  minx  withal.  How  coolly  she 
reasoned  out  the  situation  !  Ventre-saint-gris  ! 
she  knows  her  value  and  does  not  mean  to  throw 
herself  away.  '  A  poor  merchant-woman '  in- 
deed !  If  all  of  her  sex  weighed  their  chances 
and  their  worth  so  carefully,  we  poor  devils 
would  pay  dearer  for  our  pleasures.  If  I  could 
offer  marriage  !  But  being  already  so  happily 
mated  "  —  here  he  broke  off  with  a  laugh.  But 
it  rang  hollow,  as  if,  with  all  his  cynical  gayety, 
there  was  an  under-current  of  bitterness. 

Arrived   at  the  spot  where  he   had   thrown 
down  his  fagot,  the  pretended  woodman  paused 
26 


King  or  Knave 

for  reflection.  "  Ventre-saint-gris  !  "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  I  won't  take  the  risk  again  of  pass- 
ing through  the  enemy's  lines  by  daylight.  I 
might  chance  to  encounter  some  .one  of  keener 
sight  than  Mayenne  and  Mercceur.  After  sun- 
set a  belated  wood-cutter,  carrying  home  his 
fagot  to  boil  the  family  pot,  will  not  be  noticed. 
No  beauty  lures  me  now.  I  will  take  mine  ease 
for  a  while." 

Indeed  the  aspect  of  the  forest  invited  to 
repose.  It  was  a  soft  evening  in  the  early  part  of 
May.  A  gentle  breeze  stirred  the  boughs  covered 
with  new  foliage.  Here  the  sun's  slant  rays  shot 
through  the  light  green  like  a  flight  of  golden 
arrows;  there  impenetrable  masses  of  verdure 
showed  darker  against  the  glowing  sky. 

The  disguised  traveller  plunged  into  the  wood 
to  a  safe  distance.  Then  he  threw  off  his  coarse 
blouse  and  exposed  a  close-fitting  doublet  of 
velvet,  much  faded  and  frayed.  Laying  the 
former  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  he  stretched  his 
limbs  upon  it  and  soon  became  absorbed  in 
deep  meditation,  the  reckless  adventurer  and 
the  cynical  gallant  disappearing  in  the  intent 
man  of  affairs.  He  drew  forth  a  letter  and  care- 
fully read  it.  It  ran  thus : 

To  His  Majesty,  the  King  of  Navarre  : 

SIRE,  —  In  obedience  to  your  command,  I  am  here. 
You  wish  to  know  the  situation.     It  is  this  :  Paris  is 
on  the  eve  of  an  explosion.    The  excitement  is  fright- 
ful.     It  recalls  the   scenes  which  foreran  the   St. 
27 


King  or  Knave 

Bartholomew's  Day.  Since  the  execution  of  the 
Queen  of  Scots  the  King  is  more  than  ever  distrusted. 
The  populace  nourish  a  secret  rage  against  him  only 
less  fierce  than  against  your  ally,  whom  they  call  "  the 
she-wolf  of  England."  The  monks  are  everywhere, 
doing  their  devilish  work.  With  Spanish  gold  in  their 
pockets,  they  are  incessantly  stirring  up  sedition. 
They  tell  the  people  that  the  King  secretly  counselled 
the  Queen  of  England  to  put  her  prisoner  to  death. 
They  rage  at  the  thought  of  a  former  Queen  of  France 
and  a  Guise  dying  on  the  scaffold. 

Since  the  Pope  excommunicated  Queen  Elizabeth 
her  death  is  the  burden  of  a  thousand  prayers.  The 
plot  to  that  end  having  failed  and  having  brought  the 
Queen  of  Scots  to  the  block,  the  Parisians  talk  con- 
fidently of  the  immense  fleet  which  Philip  is  prepar- 
ing to  conquer  England,  under  the  Pope's  grant. 

If  Philip  succeed  in  his  vast  undertaking,  he  will 
surely  next  invade  our  country,  at  the  same  time  from 
across  the  Channel  and  over  the  Pyrenees.  And,  alas  ! 
he  will  find  a  host  of  traitors  to  help  him.  Then,  Sire, 
the  last  hope  of  the  liberties  of  France  will  be  in  our 
brave  little  army. 

Next  to  the  Queen  of  England,  the  most  hated 
personage  is  the  King  of  France.  All  the  world  is 
against  him.  The  common  people  charge  him  with 
treachery.  The  Sorbonne  has  declared  it  lawful  to 
dethrone  a  prince  who  betrays  his  country.  Even  his 
mother  has  fallen  away  from  him.  She  has  not  set 
foot  in  the  Louvre,  they  say,  within  three  years,  and 
she  corresponds  constantly  with  Guise.  Meanwhile 
he  still  alternates  between  piety  and  debauchery. 

Guise  is  more  than  ever  the  people's  idol.  To  keep 
28 


King  or  Knave 

him  from  too  close  contact  with  the  Parisians,  the 
King  will  not  let  him  come  to  the  capital.  But  what 
does  that  avail?  His  spies  are  everywhere.  He  is 
in  constant  communication  with  the  League  leaders. 
When  he  is  ready,  he  will  do  whatever  pleases  him. 

To  sum  up,  the  League  holds  Paris  secure.  In 
turn,  it  is  ruled  by  the  Sixteen.  And  these,  with 
Guise,  are  the  tools  of  Philip.  The  destinies  of 
France  are  directed  from  Madrid. 

May  10  — An  astonishing  thing  !  Guise  is  in  Paris. 
In  spite  of  the  King's  express  prohibition,  he  has  dared 
to  come. 

Now  we  shall  see  who  is  the  real  master.  At  the 
advent  of  the  duke,  the  rabble  went  wild. 

I  close  this,  Sire,  in  haste,  as  an  opportunity  offers 
for  sending  it  by  a  safe  hand. 

Your  faithful  servitor, 

THEODORE  AGRIPPA  D'AUBIGNE. 

Henry  of  Navarre  remained  a  long  time  buried 
in  deep  thought.  Meanwhile  the  sun  had  set, 
and  the  shadows  of  evening  were  gathering. 
Then  he  rose,  resumed  his  woodman's  garb  and 
his  fagot,  and  continued  his  journey.  Under  the 
cover  of  the  darkness  he  made  his  way,  unques- 
tioned, through  the  enemy's  lines,  and,  some 
miles  beyond,  came  to  an  obscure  tavern  where 
a  single  attendant  awaited  him.  Here  he  threw 
off  his  disguise,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode 
away.  By  midnight  he  reached  his  quarters  at 
Saint  Jean  d'Angely. 

When  he  awoke  the  next  morning,  he  was 
amazed  to  find  D'Aubign6  standing  by  his  bed- 
29 


King  or  Knave 

side.  The  latter  had  ridden  post  from  Paris 
with  startling  intelligence.  Shortly  after  the 
entrance  of  Guise,  the  city  had  burst  into  furious 
riots,  the  streets  had  been  barricaded,  the  royal 
troops  surrounded  and  forced  to  surrender,  and 
the  King  virtually  besieged  in  the  Louvre.  Then 
Henry  had  taken  a  decisive  step;  he  had  fled 
the  city,  leaving  it  in  the  hands  of  the  League. 
Now  it  must  be  war  to  the  knife  between  him 
and  Guise.  France  now  had  three  forces  in 
arms:  the  Royalists,  the  Leaguers,  and  the 
Huguenots  (a  change  greatly  to  the  advantage 
of  the  latter).  The  first  effect  of  this  new  situa- 
tion was  the  withdrawal  of  Mayenne  from  Henry 
of  Navarre's  front.  The  League  could  not  waste 
men  in  fighting  heresy,  when  it  needed  them  to 
overcome  the  King. 

D'Aubignd  brought  another  piece  of  news, 
closely  affecting  his  master's  interest,  of  which 
we  shall  hear  more  hereafter. 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRD 

How  Jean  Fourcade,  on  his  way  to  the  sea,  comes  to  the 
Mermaid  and  meets  one  William  Shakespeare,  who 
saves  him  from  burning. 

JEAN  FOURCADE  lay  asleep  in  his  lodgings  in 
London.  He  had  been  sent  by  his  master, 
ostensibly  to  convey  despatches  to  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, really  to  ascertain  the  state  of  England's 
preparation  against  the  Armada  and,  still  more, 
to  gain,  if  possible,  surcease  of  his  sorrow. 

He  had  taken  with  him  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion to  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who  once  served 
under  Coligny  and  was  a  great  favorite  with  the 
Huguenot  chiefs.  Raleigh  had  received  Four- 
cade  most  kindly  and  presented  him  to  a  number 
of  young  Englishmen.  One  of  these  was  Sheldon 
Courtney,  a  kinsman  of  Sir  Francis  Drake. 
Between  these  two  there  had  grown  a  warm 
friendship,  and  Courtney  had  invited  Fourcade 
to  go  with  him  to  visit  his  famous  cousin  on 
shipboard  and  inspect  the  English  fleet. 

Jean  was  aroused  by  a  violent  knocking  at  his 
door.  He  hastened  to  open  it.  Courtney's 
servant,  in  his  master's  name,  bade  him  come  to 
him  with  all  speed,  for  he  was  on  the  point  of 
starting  for  the  fleet.  Tidings  had  just  now  been 


King  or  Knave 

flashed  from  the  Lizard  that  the  Armada  was  in 
sight ! 

What  an  opportunity !  In  a  few  minutes  he 
had  hurried  on  his  clothes  and  thrust  a  few  neces- 
saries into  his  saddle-bags.  Then  he  started  with 
all  speed  for  his  friend's  lodgings. 

All  London  was  astir.  Private  houses  were 
lighted,  and  in  many  persons  might  be  seen 
hurrying  to  and  fro.  Tavern-doors  stood  wide 
open,  the  public  rooms  ablaze  with  candles  and 
filled  with  men  eagerly  debating  the  situation. 
The  streets  were  alive  with  a  curious,  anxious 
throng.  Mounted  men  rode  in  hot  haste.  Bon- 
fires blazed  in  the  market-places.  Church-bells 
clanged  heavily  on  the  night  air. 

Fourcade  encountered  a  group  of  townsfolk 
noisily  discussing  the  situation.  In  skirting  its 
edge,  he  stumbled  over  a  dog  slinking  under  the 
men's  feet. 

"  Parbleu !  "  he  ejaculated,  as  he  barely  saved 
himself  from  plunging  into  the  mud  of  the  street. 
In  an  instant  he  was  roughly  seized  by  some  of 
those  nearest  him. 

"  Ha,  a  foreign  Papist !  "  cried  one. 

"  A  spy !  "  shouted  another,  with  a  frightful 
oath. 

He  scarcely  realized  what  had  occurred,  when 
he  found  himself  surrounded  by  an  infuriated 
rabble,  momentarily  growing,  as  the  cry,  "  A 
Jesuit  priest !  "  attracted  passers-by. 

Jean  understood  enough  of  their  clamor  to 
apprehend  that  he  was  supposed  to  be  an  emis- 
32 


King  or  Knave 

sary  of  Spain.  To  protest  his  innocence  only 
served  to  make  matters  worse.  Before  such 
judges  his  scant  English  and  his  foreign  accent 
were  damning  proofs. 

"  Egad !  let 's  serve  the  accursed  spy  as  we 
served  Cuthbert  Mayne !  "  cried  one. 

"  To  the  nearest  bonfire  with  him !  "  shouted 
another. 

The  horrible  suggestion  was  received  with 
glee,  and  Fourcade  found  himself  at  once 
dragged  along  in  the  midst  of  a  mob  intent  on 
putting  it  into  immediate  execution. 

They  chanced  to  pass  the  open  door  of  a 
tavern  whence  streamed  a  broad  path  of  light, 
illuminating  a  sign  overhead  on  which  was 
daubed  the  figure  of  a  mermaid.  A  knot  of  men, 
drawn  from  within  by  the  clamor  in  the  street, 
came  crowding  the  doorway  and  the  steps. 

Fourcade  recognized  the  place.  He  had  been 
there  with  Courtney.  As  he  eagerly  scanned 
the  faces  of  the  group  about  the  entrance,  he 
distinguished  with  joy  the  features  of  an  acquaint- 
ance, Christopher  Marlowe  by  name.  The  rec- 
ognition was  mutual. 

"  Hold,  good  people,  I  pray  you  !  "  cried  Mar- 
lowe. "  I  know  this  gentleman,  and  there  is  surely 
some  mistake.  With  what  is  he  charged  ?  " 

The  crowd  answered  with  jeers  and  oaths,  "  A 
Papist !  "  "A  foreign  spy !  "  "A  damned  Jesuit 
priest !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  him,  good 
fellows?"   thickly  interposed  a  man  somewhat 
3  33 


King  or  Knave 

older  than  Marlowe,  with  the  flushed  face  and 
rolling  eye  of  deep  drink. 

"  Egad !  we  are  going  to  roast  him  without 
judge  or  jury.  We  've  had  enough  of  these 
damned  Spanish  plots,"  cried  a  voice  in  the 
crowd. 

"  By  God !  it  will  be  fine  sport.  Let 's  go 
and  see  this  new  kind  of  barbe-a-queue,"  rolled 
out  the  tipsy  man. 

"  Shame  on  you,  Rob  Greene !  "  remonstrated 
Marlowe,  earnestly  and  low.  "  Would  you  en- 
courage these  miserable  creatures  to  murder?  " 

The  mob  was  on  the  point  of  moving  on. 

"  Nay,  not  so  fast,  good  friends,"  he  cried. 
"  I  pray  you,  hear  me  a  moment.  I  can  vouch 
for  this  gentleman  that  he  is  neither  spy,  nor 
Jesuit,  but  a  sound  Protestant  and  a  friend 
of  England.  Only  give  him  a  chance  to  be 
heard." 

Hereupon  Fourcade  attempted  an  explana- 
tion, saying  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  Sir 
Francis  Drake.  But  his  foreign  accent  kindled 
again  the  wrath  of  the  rabble,  and  his  voice  was 
drowned  in  a  fresh  outcry. 

"  Away  with  him  to  the  bonfire ! "  was  the 
clamor,  and  the  mob  was  setting  itself  again  in 
motion,  when  a  young  man  who  had  not  hitherto 
spoken  interposed. 

"  Nay,  good  citizens,  be  not  over-hasty,  I  pray 
you,"  he  pleaded.  "  You  know  me  —  " 

"  Aye,  that  we  do !  "  "  Our  Will ! "  "  Speak  on, 
Will !  "  were  cries  that  came  from  the  mob. 
34 


King  or  Knave 

"Fair  play  is  English  play,  is  it  not?"  (Cries 
of  "  Aye,  aye !  "  "  That  is  so  !  ")  "  Then  give  this 
man  fair  play,  I  say.  You  would  not  do  a  man 
to  death  without  just  cause,  would  you  ?  Here 
is  one  that  is  willing  to  vouch  for  him  that  he  is 
no  spy,  nor  enemy  to  England.  Methought  I 
heard  him  name  Sir  Francis  Drake.  Perchance 
he  has  about  him  some  writing  that  will  assure 
you  of  his  peaceful  intent." 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  speaker's  voice,  the 
man  addressed  as  Rob  Greene  had  shown  every 
sign  of  drunken  fury.  While  the  other  spoke, 
he  glared  at  him  savagely.  Now  he  burst  upon 
him  with  rage,  — 

"  Who  art  thou,  Shakestick,  Shixpur,  Shak- 
escene,  or  by  whatever  latest  name  thou  callest 
thyself,  thou  upstart  crow,  beautified  with  better 
birds'  feathers ;  thou  thief  of  other  men's  wits ; 
thou  infamous  bawdy-house  braggart  —  " 

Hot  blood  flushed  the  young  man's  face  ;  but 
he  spoke  not  a  word  and  only  looked  at  the 
tipsy  bully  with  fine  scorn. 

"Nay,  Rob  Greene,"  remonstrated  Marlowe, 
"  't  is  an  unmanly  trait  in  thee  that  thou  dost 
ever  assail  the  boy.  I  tell  thee,"  he  added,  low- 
ering his  voice,  "  he  hath  such  stuff  in  him  that 
when  he  hath  gained  more  years,  Fame  shall 
sound  his  trump  in  all  the  wide  world's  ear, 
when  none  shall  name  thee,  save  as  a  tavern- 
idler  and  bawdy-house  brawler." 

"  Pooh,  a  mere  purloiner  and  common  thief," 
blustered   the   other.     Then   he   added  sulkily, 
35 


King  or  Knave 

"  Thou  mayest  keep  thy  prophecy  for  thyself, 
Kit  Marlowe.     It  fits  thee  best." 

Meanwhile  Fourcade  had  not  failed  to  profit  by 
this  diversion  to  search  his  pockets  for  some  bit 
of  writing  that  might  prove  his  friendly  affilia- 
tions. Happily,  he  found  a  letter  of  his  master, 
signed  simply,  "  Navarre."  This  he  offered. 

The  feeling  of  the  mob  toward  him  had  un- 
dergone a  complete  revulsion.  Greene's  attack 
on  their  favorite,  young  Will,  had  evoked  fresh 
enthusiasm  in  favor  of  the  latter;  and  this 
sentiment  included  the  stranger  whose  cause  he 
had  espoused. 

This  change  did  not  escape  the  quick  eye  of 
Jean's  champion,  and  he  hastened  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  it. 

"Ah  ha!  Said  I  not  to  you,"  he  cried 
triumphantly,  "that  this  is  no  enemy?  Here  is 
a  writing,"  holding  the  letter  aloft  and  striking 
the  signature  with  his  forefinger,  "  subscribed 
by  our  Queen's  good  friend  and  ally,  the  King 
of  Navarre,  who,  ye  know,  last  autumn  put  the 
papists  to  a  damnable  rout." 

Thereupon  there  was  tremendous  applause, 
and  Fourcade  suddenly  found  himself  as  much 
an  object  of  admiration  as  before  of  hostility. 
He  took  leave  of  his  protectors  with  hearty 
thanks,  and  went  on  his  way,  an  enthusiastic 
rabble  tagging  at  his  heels  and  cheering  him  to 
his  friend's  very  door. 

Fourcade  and  Courtney  started  immediately 
for  Plymouth. 

36 


King  or  Knave 

As  they  rode  through  the  night,  everywhere 
drums  were  beating  and  men  mustering  in  the  mar- 
ket-places. The  hill-tops  blazed  with  bonfires. 
From  the  Lizard  to  Flamborough  Head  the 
land  was  alight  with  beacons  summoning  the 
men  of  England  to  march  against  the  foe.  And 
right  valiantly  they  responded.  Already  the 
roads  were  almost  choked  with  bands  of  militia 
and  trains  of  wagons  bearing  provisions,  all 
moving  to  the  sea-board. 

All  the  next  day  they  continued  their  journey 
through  similar  scenes.  As  evening  drew  on, 
they  met  messengers,  one  after  another,  riding 
post-haste  to  London,  with  despatches  from  the 
Admiral,  Lord  Howard.  The  fleet  had  already 
sailed  from  Plymouth.  This  was  in  itself  a 
master-stroke.  When  the  hostile  armament 
hove  in  sight,  the  English  vessels  were  in  the 
harbor,  shut  in  by  a  southerly  wind.  The  situ- 
ation was  perilous.  Had  the  Spanish  admiral 
possessed  the  spirit  of  Drake,  he  would  have 
swept  in  and  fought  the  fleet  on  his  own  terms. 
But  Medina  Sidonia  was  not  Drake.  He  pleaded 
with  his  fleet-captains  that  his  master  had  for- 
bidden him  to  enter  a  single  harbor  before 
effecting  the  junction  with  the  army  from  Flan- 
ders. So  he  missed  the  opportunity  of  destroy- 
ing his  nimble  adversaries  in  the  port  in  which 
they  were  "  bottled  up."  While  he  sailed  com- 
placently on  his  way,  the  great  sea-captains  and 
the  stout  mariners  of  England  were  toiling  to 
gain  all  that  they  needed,  plenty  of  sea-room. 
37 


King  or  Knave 

When  the  first  dawn  came  after  the  signals  had 
announced  the  Armada,  strong  arms,  tugging 
at  the  oars,  had  warped  a  large  part  of  the 
fleet  out  of  its  perilous  plight.  Sixty  sail  had 
gained  an  offing  and  were  standing  out  into  the 
Channel. 

•  This  circumstance  necessitated  a  change  of  our 
young  men's  plan.  They  decided  to  strike  the 
coast  at  a  nearer  point. 

After  riding  all  the  night,  stopping  only  for 
hasty  refreshment,  they  reached  Torbay  on  the 
second  morning  at  sunrise  and  learned  with  joy 
that  the  fleet  was  off-shore.  In  a  tavern  filled 
with  soldiers  and  sailors  eating  and  carousing 
they  took  a  hurried  meal. 

An  old  salt  told  a  story  of  Drake  at  which  all 
laughed  hugely.  "  Egad,  'ee  was  a-playin'  bowls 
on  the  Hoe  with  my  Lord  Admiral  and  'Awkins 
and  the  rest  of  um,  when  Captain  Fleming 
comes  racin'  into  port  and  runs  to  the  tavern  and 
busts  in  and  bawls,  '  They're  a-comin',  my  Lord. 
I  've  seed  um  with  my  own  eyes.  Moon-shaped 
and  seven  mile  wide  from  wing  to  wing,  if 
they're  a  foot.'  Then  when  they  wus  all 
flustered  and  the  captains  wus  a-puttin'  on  their 
coats  and  a-hurryin'  away,  Drake  'ee  goes  on 
coolly  a-aimin'  of  his  bowl. 

"Then  the  Lord  Admiral  'ee  says,  '  Sir  Vice- 
Admiral,  what  is  your  counsel?'  And  Drake 
'ee  says,  '  My  counsel,  my  Lord,  is  that  we  finish 
this  game.  There 's  time  enough  and  to  spare. 
We'll  take  care  of  them  all  in  good  season. 
38 


King  or  Knave 

No  hurry.     So  'ere  goes.'     With  that,  egad,  'ee 
lets  fly  his  bowl  and  makes  a  ten-strike." 

The  fact  no  doubt  was,  that  Drake  already 
had  his  campaign  well  in  mind.  His  plan  was 
to  let  the  Spaniard  go  by,  then  harass  his 
rear. 

The  little  fishing  hamlet  was  crowded  with 
bustling  people.  Here  were  light  craft  putting 
to  sea,  filled  with  volunteers  for  the  fleet.  There 
were  fishing-vessels,  laden  deep  with  stores  for 
the  ships,  freely  contributed  by  merchants  and 
men  of  means.  A  passion  of  national  defence 
had  seized  the  people,  high  and  low,  and  all 
England  was  pouring  out  her  wealth  without 
stint. 

Courtney  quickly  made  a  bargain  with  the 
master  of  a  fishing-sloop  which  already  had  for 
passengers  a  number  of  volunteers,  to  convey 
himself  and  Fourcade  on  board  the  Revenge, 
Sir  Francis  Drake's  ship. 

The  day  was  bright  and  beautiful.  The  blue 
water  was  dotted  with  the  white  sails  of  craft  of 
every  description,  all  bound  seaward.  Soon 
they  came  in  sight  of  the  English  fleet. 

The  vessels  lay  hove  to,  quite  close  together, 
but  covering  a  considerable  space.  The  trim 
craft  lay  like  sea-birds  just  lighted,  riding 
easily  on  the  swell,  each  with  a  little  canvas  set. 
There  were  several  Queen's  ships,  compared 
with  the  rest,  vast  in  bulk,  with  their  long  tiers 
of  guns.  In  the  midst  of  them  floated  the  Lord 
Admiral's  broad  pennant. 
39 


King  or  Knave 

But  the  most  were  small,  swift  vessels.  Priva- 
teers such  as  these  had  made  the  English  flag  a 
terror  to  Corunna  and  Cadiz  and  the  coast 
towns  of  the  Spanish  Main.  Not  a  few,  besides 
the  national  ensign,  showed  some  coat  of  arms. 
Private  owners  had  brought  them  to  their  coun- 
try's aid.  Here  and  there  one  hung  out  a  cross 
at  the  taffrail,  showing  its  master  a  Catholic, 
come  with  his  own  ship  to  fight  his  country's 
battle  against  the  Most  Catholic  King. 

The  shore  boats  plied  among  the  vessels,  de- 
livering their  freight  and  passengers;  and  our 
two  friends  had  a  good  chance  of  inspecting  the 
fleet  as  they  sailed  from  ship  to  ship. 

One  volunteer  was  bound  for  the  Triumph, 
the  largest  of  the  English  ships,  whose  comman- 
der was  the  renowned  explorer  of  the  frozen 
seas,  Martin  Frobisher.  Another  wished  to  be 
put  aboard  the  Victory.  As  they  came  under 
the  high  poop,  a  dark,  sun-tanned  visage  looked 
down  upon  them. 

"That  is  he.  That  is  Hawkins  himself," 
said  one  of  the  young  men,  with  evident  awe. 

Fourcade  was  struck  with  the  strange  device 
of  the  escutcheon  hanging  over  the  taffrail. 
It  was  a  Moor  bound  with  cords.  He  asked 
its  meaning,  and  was  told  that  it  indicated 
this  great  commander's  triumphs  in  capturing 
Africans  and  selling  them  to  the  West  India 
plantations. 

Everywhere  were  life  and  animation  and 
good-humor.  The  decks  were  alive  and  full  of 
40 


King  or  Knave 

bustle.  There  were  voices  bawling  cheerily 
from  ship  to  ship.  Now  and  again  the  shrill 
piping  of  the  boatswain's  whistle  was  followed 
by  a  hoarse  command.  Then  the  rigging 
blackened  with  a  swarm  of  figures  climbing  the 
shrouds  and  swinging  themselves  like  monkeys 
from  yard  to  yard. 

Fourcade's  imagination  was  stirred.  Around 
him  were  the  seamen  who  had  carried  the  flag  of 
England  over  the  globe  and  bearded  the  world's 
conquerors  in  their  strongholds.  Within  a 
single  glance  were  famous  navigators,  bold  dis- 
coverers, reckless  sea-rovers,  red-handed  with 
Spanish  blood,  —  all  the  men  who  had  brought 
wealth  and  glory  to  England  and  laid  the  foun- 
dation of  her  empire  of  the  seas. 

Soon  they  were  alongside  of  Sir  Francis 
Drake's  ship.  The  Revenge,  like  a  swan  sur- 
rounded by  her  cygnets,  rode  amid  a  flotilla  of 
smaller  craft,  the  privateer  contingent,  of  which 
the  great  sea-rover  was  commander. 

When  the  visitors  climbed  aboard,  they  espied 
a  burly  figure  with  broad,  sun-burned  visage, 
massive  forehead,  and  full  ruddy  beard  modishly 
trimmed  to  a  peak.  The  hero  of  a  hundred  sea- 
fights,  whose  name  alone  was  worth  a  score  of 
ships,  so  redoubtable  did  the  Spaniards  hold  him, 
was  handsomely  dressed  in  black  cut-velvet,  with 
a  high  starched  ruff  coming  up  to  his  very  ears. 
On  his  breast  hung  a  splendid  jewelled  medallion 
containing  a  miniature  of  his  royal  mistress, 
given  him  by  herself  in  recognition  of  his 
41 


King  or  Knave 

prowess  in  burning  a  Spanish  fleet  in  the  very 
harbor  of  Cadiz. 

The  great  viking,  now  Vice-Admiral  of  her 
Majesty's  fleet,  kept  high  state  on  shipboard. 
What  cared  he  that  some  of  his  own  countrymen 
called  him  "  the  greatest  thief  of  the  unknown 
world,"  and  that  Philip  demanded  his  head? 
When  he  sailed  into  Plymouth  harbor,  after 
three  years'  absence  without  a  word  of  news 
from  England,  having  burst  into  the  Pacific, 
plundered  the  coasts  of  Chili  and  Peru,  rounded 
Good  Hope  and  put  the  first  English  girdle 
around  the  globe;  when  he  sent  Spanish  gold 
and  silver  to  London  by  horse-loads,  besides 
all  that  he  kept ;  when  he  encountered  first  the 
simulated  frowns,  then  the  open  favor  of  his  sov- 
ereign, who  knighted  him  on  the  deck  of  his 
ship,  the  "  Golden  Hind,"  and  was  entertained 
by  him  with  princely  profusion, — he  could 
smile  at  hard  names. 

"  Ha !  "  cried  the  modern  viking,  so  soon  as 
he  caught  sight  of  the  new-comers,  "  Sheldon, 
my  boy,  you  are  come  in  the  very  nick  of  time. 
A  half-hour  more  at  the  furthest,  and  you  were 
too  late.  We  momentarily  wait  the  signal  to 
make  sail."  Then,  before  his  kinsman  had  time 
to  present  his  friend,  he  extended  a  brawny 
hand  to  Fourcade  and  gave  him  a  hearty  grip. 

"  A  friend  of  mine,  Sir  Francis,"  said  Court- 
ney, uncovering,  "  and  a  follower  of  the  King  of 
Navarre." 

"  Ah !  then  let  me  welcome  you  doubly,"  cried 
42 


King  or  Knave 

the  great  sea-dog,  wringing  Fourcade's  hand 
anew.  "  Egad,  "t  is  a  thousand  pities  that  such 
a  born  free  companion  of  the  sea  as  your  master 
should  be  made  by  hard  fortune  into  a  landsman. 
If  my  pious  father  could  have  had  his  way  with 
me,  where  should  I  be  now?  Zounds  !  moping 
in  a  country  curacy  and  yawning  over  my 
prayer-book.  But  I  found  out  that  the  Al- 
mighty had  cut  out  other  work  for  me  to  do. 
And,  egad !  the  Spaniard  knows  it,  too." 


43 


CHAPTER  THE  FOURTH 

How  Jean  Fourcade,  sailing  with  Drake  to  fight  the 
Invincible  Armada,  witnesses  his  famous  method  of 
"Singeing  the  Spanish  King's  beard." 

IT  was  Fourcade's  first  experience  of  a  war- 
ship, and  he  admired  its  order  and  method  and 
its  long  rows  of  cannon.  Suddenly  the  report 
of  a  gun  boomed  over  the  water,  and  a  light 
cloud  drifted  away  from  the  Admiral's  deck. 
As  a  signal  fluttered  from  his  foremast,  a  cheer 
began  on  one  vessel.  It  was  quickly  taken  up 
on  another  and  another,  until  all  the  nine  thou- 
sand seamen  of  the  fleet  cried  together  in  one 
vast  shout. 

In  a  twinkling  the  yards  swarmed  with  sailors 
loosing  the  canvas.  The  shore  boats  were  cast 
off  and  began  to  clear  themselves  of  the  fleet. 
Every  eye  was  turned  to  the  Lord  Admiral  for 
the  final  signal.  At  the  moment  that  a  puff  of 
smoke  issued  from  her  side,  as  if  by  magic,  the 
whole  hundred  vessels  clothed  themselves  with 
canvas  and  began  to  forge  ahead  without  jostling 
or  confusion.  Soon  the  whole  flock  of  tall  sea- 
birds  was  skimming  the  water  in  graceful  flight 
up  the  Channel. 

Now  Fourcade  caught  his  first  glimpse  of 
the  Armada.  The  sun  reflected  from  its  sails 
44 


King  or  Knave 

showed  it  like  a  vast  white  cloud,  low  and  long 
extended  on  the  horizon.  A  very  little  time 
proved  how  much  the  light  English  vessels  out- 
sailed the  Spanish,  for  the  hulls  of  the  latter 
began  to  rise  out  of  the  water  and  reveal  their 
bulk. 

What  an  array  it  was !  Philip's  empire  had 
been  drained  to  build  and  equip  it.  Three 
years  and  millions  of  treasure  had  scarcely  suf- 
ficed for  its  preparation.  The  Indies  and  the 
New  World  had  yielded  up  for  it  their  blood- 
stained weath.  Portugal  had  been  bled  to  the 
verge  of  death  to  furnish  her  reluctant  quota. 
Even  Venice  and  Naples  and  Genoa  were  there, 
as  unwilling  allies.  All  the  provinces  of  Spain 
were  represented,  ranged  under  the  banner  of 
haughty  Castile.  Eight  thousand  sailors  manned 
it,  and  it  bore  twenty  thousand  veteran  soldiers. 
The  programme  was  to  unite  these  with  the  Duke 
of  Parma's  thirty  thousand,  trained  in  the  wars 
of  the  Low  Countries  and  now  awaiting  trans- 
port on  the  Dutch  coast.  Then  surely  England's 
doom  was  sealed. 

There  were  dukes  and  a  legion  of  Spain's 
lesser  chivalry,  with  hundreds  of  bold  adven- 
turers, spldiers  and  sailors  of  fortune  like  those 
who  had  followed  Cortez  and  Pizarro.  To  care 
for  England's  spiritual  interests,  there  was  a 
band  of  monks,  with  holy  inquisitors  and  good 
store  of  sacred  instruments  of  torture. 

Now  the  Captain-General,  the  Golden  Duke, 
Medina  Sidonia,  stood  on  the  deck  of  his  huge 
45 


King  or  Knave 

galleon,  the  Saint  Martin,  surrounded  by  brilliant 
nobles.  The  great  array,  in  the  form  of  a  cres- 
cent, seven  miles  wide,  swept  slowly  up  the 
Channel,  with  the  pomp  of  martial  music  and 
of  gaudy  standards. 

As  the  English  vessels  drew  near,  the  Spanish 
admiral  proclaimed  a  holy  war  by  unfurling  his 
sacred  banner.  As  its  heavy  folds  floated  out, 
while  every  gun  of  every  ship  roared  a  salute, 
they  displayed  on  one  side  the  Crucified  Saviour, 
on  the  other  the  Holy  Mother.  Then  thousands 
of  knees  were  bent  and  thousands  of  hearts 
were  uplifted  in  prayer  for  victory  over  the 
enemies  of  the  Church. 

The  contrast  was  sharp.  Not  only  two  na- 
tions, but  two  ages  confronted  each  other.  Spain 
stood  for  the  Middle  Age,  both  in  spirit  and  in 
her  armament.  She  maintained  the  traditions 
of  the  Mediterranean.  Her  naval  tactics  were 
those  of  the  great  Italian  admirals,  like  Andrea 
Doria,  who  marshalled  their  vessels  like  squad- 
rons of  cavalry,  according  to  military  rules  of 
formation,  and  charged  with  them,  locking  with 
the  enemy  and  fighting  hand  to  hand.  It  was 
simply  land  warfare  transferred  to  the  sea.  The 
introduction  of  cannon  had,  of  course,  modified 
the  scheme ;  but  the  general  idea  was  the  same. 
The  ruling  type  was  still  that  of  the  Greek  and 
Roman  war-galley,  driven  by  hundreds  of  rowers, 
seeking  first  of  all  to  ram  the  enemy  with  her 
keen  metal  beak,  and,  failing  that,  to  grapple, 
when  the  soldiers  fought  as  on  land. 
46 


King  or  Knave 

Therefore  the  pride  of  the  Armada  were  four 
huge  Neapolitan  galleasses.  These  illustrated 
an  attempt  to  adapt  the  ancient  war-galley  to 
modern  conditions.  They  carried  considerable 
canvas  on  three  masts,  as  well  as  fifty  oars, 
each  pulled  by  five  men,  and  had  cannon  in 
broadside,  besides  great  square  castles  fore  and 
aft,  with  guns  in  tiers,  like  the  sailing  ships  of 
the  day.  One  of  these  hybrid  monsters  bore  a 
total  company  of  not  less  than  a  thousand,  oars- 
men (slaves),  sailors,  and  marines.  Vessels  of 
this  type  had  done  splendid  service  at  Lepanto, 
where  they  broke  up  the  Turkish  centre  and 
decided  the  day  for  Don  John  and  Christendom. 
The  four  Neapolitans  were,  par  excellence,  the 
battle-ships  of  the  Armada,  and  were  expected 
to  do  terrible  execution  upon  the  English 
vessels,  as  unquestionably  they  would  have 
done,  had  they  been  allowed  to  carry  out  their 
tactics  of  coming  to  close  quarters,  ramming, 
and  grappling. 

The  English  stood  for  the  modern  time,  not 
in  spirit  only  but  in  method.  They  had  dis- 
carded the  galley  type,  and  had  few  vessels 
which  relied  at  all  on  oars.  They  had  evolved 
swift  sailing-craft,  and,  not  looking  primarily  to 
grappling  and  close  fighting,  they  paid  more 
attention  to  artillery.  They  had  better  guns, 
more  of  them,  more  and  better  sailors,  and 
vastly  better  gunners.  They  had,  also,  a  larger 
proportion  of  vessels  built  expressly  for  the 
purposes  of  war  and  having  every  equipment 
47 


King  or  Knave 

known  to  naval  science.  Besides  their  heavy 
guns  in  battery,  they  carried  light  pieces  for 
quick  firing  in  cage-works  and  in  their  tops. 
And  these  swift  sailing-vessels  were  handled 
by  the  most  experienced  seamen  whom  all 
England  had  produced,  veterans  of  the  ocean. 

Outside  of  the  Neapolitan  and  Portuguese 
squadrons,  the  larger  part  of  Medina  Sidonia's 
fleet  was  made  up  of  merchant-ships  fitted  with 
castles  for  fighting,  but  ill  adapted  to  naval  use, 
clumsy  sailers,  unweatherly,  and,  worst  of  all, 
in  many  cases  commanded  not  by  seamen,  but 
by  generals,  colonels  of  cavalry,  and  the  like. 
Medina  Sidonia  himself  was  no  sailor,  but  a  high 
grandee  who  had  reluctantly  taken  this  weighty 
charge.  Even  the  crews  were  largely  made  up  of 
raw  peasants,  hastily  impressed  for  this  special 
enterprise.  The  ships  were  also  crowded  with 
an  army  of  twenty  thousand  soldiers. 

In  every  particular,  except  that  they  had 
heavier  tonnage  and  more  soldiers,  the  Span- 
iards were  outclassed.  But  their  bigger  ships 
only  furnished  larger  targets  for  the  enemy; 
and  their  soldiery,  except  the  rare  occasions 
when  they  could  use  their  arquebuses,  were 
only  a  mob  of  helpless  landsmen,  destined  to  be 
mown  down  by  the  enemy's  guns. 

It  was  the  old  time  against  the  new.  Spain  had 
an  army  at  sea  on  antiquated  vessels.  England 
had  a  modern  scientific  navy,  skilfully  handled. 

Great  was  the  surprise  of  the  Spaniards  when 
they  saw  the  English  fleet  looming  up  on  their 
48 


King  or  Knave 

weather  side.  That  they  had  got  out  of  Ply- 
mouth, in  the  teeth  of  the  wind,  and  worked  up 
on  their  weather  quarter,  seemed  little  short  of  a 
miracle  of  seamanship. 

Sidonia  hoped  for  an  immediate  encounter, 
and  ran  up  the  royal  standard  at  the  fore,  the 
signal  for  a  general  engagement.  Howard 
promptly  signalled  his  fleet  to  hold  off.  But  no 
sooner  did  Sidonia  resume  his  course,  than  the 
advanced  English  ships  fell  furiously  upon  the 
enemy's  rear,  pouring  in  a  hot  fire.  The  most 
of  the  Dons  were  seized  with  a  panic,  and  ran 
away  before  the  wind.  But  brave  old  Recalde, 
Admiral  of  the  rear-guard,  with  one  other  ship, 
came  up  into  the  wind  and  squared  off  for  a 
fight.  He  got  it  to  his  heart's  content.  Drake, 
Hawkins,  Frobisher,  and  several  others  lay 
pounding  him  at  musket-range.  Meanwhile, 
Sidonia  had  gone  about,  and,  having  rallied  the 
fugitives,  was  coming  to  stand  by  him.  But  it 
was  a  long  time  before  they  could  work  to 
windward  sufficiently.  For  two  mortal  hours 
the  old  Don  took  his  punishment  like  a  man. 
Then,  help  having  come  to  him,  Howard  sig- 
nalled his  ships  to  draw  off,  leaving  Recalde, 
completely  disabled,  among  his  friends. 

This  first  encounter  was  a  specimen  of  the 
English  tactics  through  the  entire  week.  Their 
windward  position,  for  which  they  always  ma- 
noeuvred successfully,  gave  them  the  choice  of 
fighting  or  not.  The  enemy,  either  by  ill-luck 
or  mismanagement,  always  to  leeward,  could 
4  49 


King  or  Knave 

never  force  an  engagement,  but  must  always 
accept  it  on  their  nimble  adversaries'  terms. 

Near  sunset,  the  great  castle  on  the  stern  of 
Admiral  Oquendo's  flag-ship,  the  San  Salvador, 
suddenly  rose  in  the  air,  amid  a  dense  cloud  of 
smoke  and  with  a  deafening  report.  The  huge 
galleon  lay  a  dismantled  hulk,  while  the  sea 
was  strewn  with  wreckage,  to  which  men  were 
clinging. 

Immediately  Drake  headed  the  Revenge, 
under  full  sail,  for  the  unfortunate  Spaniard. 
Other  English  ships  bore  down,  all  eager 
to  swoop  on  the  victim  of  disaster.  But  they 
were  disappointed.  So  many  of  her  comrades 
hastened  to  cover  the  disabled  galleon  that  the 
assailants  must  content  themselves  with  cannon- 
ading the  rescuers.  The  San  Salvador  bore  the 
paymaster-general  of  the  whole  fleet,  and  a  vast 
sum  of  money  was  lost. 

While  the  Revenge  was  still  bowling  along 
towards  the  centre  of  interest,  a  lone  swimmer 
was  seen  battling  with  the  waves.  A  rope  was 
thrown  to  him,  and  he  was  hauled  aboard,  sput- 
tering with  rage  and  swearing  in  Dutch.  He 
was  the  Flemish  master-gunner  of  the  flag-ship 
just  now  destroyed.  His  Spanish  captain  had 
incensed  him  by  a  sharp  reprimand  for  reckless 
and  wasteful  firing,  and  he  had  revenged  himself 
by  lighting  a  train  to  the  powder-magazine. 
Then  he  had  thrown  himself  into  the  sea. 

This  treachery  led  to  yet  other  disasters.  In 
crowding  to  the  rescue  several  collisions  oc- 
50 


King  or  Knave 

curred.  The  heaviest  sufferer  was  Admiral 
Pedro  de  Valdez,  commander  of  the  Andalusian 
squadron.  His  foremast  fell,  entangling  the 
mainmast  in  its  wreck.  A  high  sea  was  running. 
Night  was  drawing  near,  and  he  lay  helpless  on 
the  water. 

Still  the  brave  Don  had  no  thought  of  sur- 
render. With  a  little  patch  of  canvas,  barely 
enough  to  keep  his  ship  steady,  he  used  his 
guns  incessantly,  beating  off  the  English  and 
hoping  for  relief.  But  the  Captain-general  was 
compelled  to  draw  away  his  scattered  ships  and 
leave  him  to  his  fate,  like  a  wounded  stag  sur- 
rounded by  hungry  wolves.  Until  darkness  hid 
the  disabled  ship,  the  Triumph  and  the  Victory 
continued  their  fire,  to  which  he  steadily  replied. 

So  ended  the  first  day's  fighting.  Two  flag- 
ships of  the  enemy's  squadrons  disabled  and 
other  vessels  battered,  with  a  large  number  of 
men  killed,  while  not  an  English  ship  had  suf- 
fered, and  their  losses  had  been  very  light,  pre- 
sented a  situation  full  of  cheer  for  the  defence. 

That  night  occurred  an  incident  quite  charac- 
teristic of  Drake.  To  him  had  been  assigned 
the  honorable  duty  of  leading  the  fleet  through 
the  night.  Following  his  great  poop-lantern,  the 
captains  held  their  course  confidently  and 
steadily.  All  went  well  until  the  dead  of  night. 
Then,  suddenly,  the  Revenge's  light  went  out. 
Confusion  fell  upon  the  fleet.  What  had  be- 
fallen Drake?  Where  was  he?  What  should 
they  do?  Some  captains  hove  to  and  waited 


King  or  Knave 

for  daylight.  Some  shortened  sail.  There 
were  no  orders,  and  each  must  use  his  judgment. 
Howard,  with  the  White  Bear,  continued  the 
chase.  The  fleet  became  widely  scattered. 

About  the  same  time  Fourcade  and  his  friend 
were  enjoying  the  sleep  of  overpowering  fatigue, 
when  they  were  aroused  by  tramping  on  deck. 

"  Hist !  "  said  Courtney,  "  what  is  that  sound? 
There  is  some  movement  going  on  overhead. 
Let  us  see  what  is  afoot." 

They  were  quickly  on  deck.  They  found 
Drake  in  person  directing  the  working  of  the 
ship.  Without  a  cry  the  seamen  were  shifting 
the  sails  and  hauling  home  the  sheets.  The 
Revenge  noiselessly  slipped  away  from  her  late 
position  and  left  the  course  in  which  she  had 
been  leading.  What  was  she  seeking?  Why 
this  profound  secrecy? 

Now,  having  given  a  wide  berth  to  her  con- 
sorts, she  steered  for  the  middle  of  the  Channel, 
forging  slowly  ahead.  There  was  not  a  sound 
but  the  swashing  of  the  swell  against  her  sides 
and  the  occasional  creaking  of  a  block.  The 
young  men  stood  near  the  famous  sea-rover. 
From  the  bow  of  his  ship  he  peered  intently  into 
the  gloom. 

"  There  he  lies ! "  he  cried  presently,  and 
immediately  sent  an  order  to  the  helmsman  to 
change  the  course  towards  an  object  which  the 
two  landsmen  now  descried.  They  surmised 
that  the  disabled  galleon  was  his  quarry.  All 
uncertainty  was  removed  by  Drake's  muttering 
52 


King  or  Knave 

aloud,  "Egad,  'tis  bad  enough  to  have  missed 
that  treasure  that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Channel.  But  this  Spaniard,  by  God !  we  shall 
have  in  the  morning,  before  we  eat  our  break- 
fast." 

Then  he  directed  the  manoeuvring  of  the  ship 
into  the  position  which  he  desired.  There  she 
dropped  anchor  quietly  and  lay  awaiting  the 
morning. 

It  was  scarcely  dawn,  when  all  hands  were 
astir  on  the  Revenge.  Silently  the  gun-crews 
took  their  places  ready  for  action. 

When  the  sun  burst  through  the  mist  and  the 
fog  rolled  away,  the  astounded  Spaniard  saw  an 
English  ship  lying  across  his  bow,  in  a  position 
to  rake  him  from  stem  to  stern  at  close  range, 
while  he  could  not  use  a  single  gun. 

But  not  a  shot  was  fired.  Instead,  a  boat  left 
the  stranger's  side  with  a  white  flag  at  the  bow. 
Drake  was  shouting  to  the  officer  in  the  stern- 
sheets  his  final  instructions,  — 

"  Hark  'ee,  Ramsdell,  no  bullying,  ye  under- 
stand !  This  fellow  has  made  a  brave  fight,  and, 
egad,  he  shall  have  good  treatment.  Say  to 
him,  on  the  honor  of  Francis  Drake,  if  he  will 
surrender,  he  shall  have  treatment  worthy  of  a 
gallant  gentleman  and  opportunity  of  ransom. 
But  if  he  is  obstinate,  tell  him  my  matches  are 
burning,  and  I  '11  rake  him  before  he  can  patter 
an  Ave." 

The  Don  at  first  demurred,  then,  when  he 
found  that  he  could  make  no  terms,  professed 
53 


King  or  Knave 

himself  proud  to  surrender  to  the  illustrious 
Sir  Francis  Drake. 

It  was  a  splendid  capture.  The  admiral  of 
the  Andalusian  squadron,  with  some  forty  officers 
and  gentlemen,  would  pay  no  mean  ransom,  not 
to  mention  the  ship,  with  her  treasure  and  her 
guns  and  equipage. 

A  boat  brought  Valdez  aboard  the  Revenge. 
Drake  hastened  to  meet  and  greet  him  with 
every  mark  of  courtesy. 

"  Welcome,  Senor ;  a  brave  gentleman  in 
misfortune  will  never  regret  falling  into  the 
hands  of  Francis  Drake." 

He  made  good  his  word.  Throughout  the 
week  the  prisoner  lived  on  board  the  Revenge 
as  an  honored  guest  and  witnessed  the  fighting 
from  her  decks. 

In  the  mean  time  dawn  had  brought  no  relief 
to  the  anxiety  of  the  fleet.  Drake  was  nowhere 
in  sight.  The  captains  knew  not  what  to  do. 
The  Admiral  had  sailed  ahead.  At  last  a  pin- 
nace brought  word  that  Drake  had  left  his  post 
and  doubled  back  behind  the  fleet,  to  stay  by 
the  disabled  Spaniard,  and  had  captured  him  in 
the  morning. 

The  fleet-officers  were  furious.  They  swore 
that  it  was  the  act  of  an  incorrigible  pirate  to 
delay  the  pursuit,  at  a  critical  time,  and  confuse 
the  fleet,  in  order  that  he  might  seize  a  prize 
which  of  right  belonged  to  other  men.  Frobisher 
and  Hawkins  were  especially  incensed.  They 
had  shot  the  Spanish  ship  almost  to  pieces,  and 
54 


King  or  Knave 

now,  forsooth,  a  free-booter  had  stolen  the  splen- 
did prize. 

"The  damned  pirate  and  thief!  "  blurted  out 
the  explorer  of  the  frozen  seas,  "  he  will  cozen 
us,  if  he  can,  out  of  our  fifteen  thousand  ducats 
of  ransom.  But,  by  God  !  I  will  make  him  spill 
the  last  drop  of  blood  in  his  carcass  ere  he  shall 
have  it." 

The  hard  face  of  Hawkins  turned  livid,  and  he 
stormed  about  his  deck  like  a  madman.  Had  a 
whole  cargo  of  blackamoors  beneath  the  hatches 
been  found  dead,  he  would  scarcely  have  thought 
himself  more  hardly  used  by  Providence  than 
now  by  his  brother  rover  and  kinsman. 

But,  rage  as  they  might,  not  a  groat  of  the 
huge  ransom  did  they  get. 

Drake,  when  he  appeared,  had  a  plausible 
story  to  tell.  In  the  night  he  had  seen  a  group 
of  ships  silently  crossing  his  bows.  Taking  them 
for  Spaniards  trying  to  steal  to  windward,  he 
had  thought  it  best  not  to  turn  the  whole  fleet 
from  its  course :  therefore  he  had  put  out  his 
light  and  given  them  chase.  He  had  followed 
them  all  night.  When  morning  came,  he  found 
them  to  be  German  merchantmen.  On  his  way 
to  rejoin  the  fleet,  he  had  chanced  upon  the  dis- 
abled Spaniard  and  captured  him.  His  officers 
and  crew  were  willing  to  swear  to  the  truth  of 
the  story,  and  nobody  could  disprove  it. 

Day  after  day  for  a  week  the  fight  moved 
slowly  up  the  Channel.  Almost  every  point 
along  the  English  coast  witnessed  some  encoun- 
55 


King  or  Knave 

ter.  All  the  while  the  cliffs  bristled  with  Eng- 
land's stout  yeomen,  pike  or  arquebuse  in  hand, 
ready  to  resist  a  landing,  if  any  were  attempted ; 
while  thousands  of  women  and  old  men  lined 
the  shores,  watching  with  eager  interest  and 
earnest  prayers  the  great  cloud  of  drifting  smoke, 
through  which  at  times  ships,  friend  and  foe  in- 
distinguishable, could  be  seen  gliding  like  phan- 
toms. It  was  a  solemn  time  for  England,  and  she 
was  equal  to  the  crisis.  At  every  lull  boat-loads 
of  fresh  provisions  and  crowds  of  volunteers, 
so  that  he  was  compelled  to  turn  away  hundreds, 
poured  out  of  every  port  to  join  Howard. 

Off  Portland  Bill  there  was  a  furious  fight, 
of  which  Frobisher  was  the  hero.  With  four 
ships  he  had  become  isolated,  and  was  attacked 
by  the  four  great  galleasses  and  others.  The 
English  fleet  was  practically  cut  in  two.  An 
abler  commander  than  Sidonia  would  have 
known  how  to  destroy  one  wing.  But  when  he 
drew  off,  the  San  Martin's  rigging  was  cut  to 
pieces,  and  water  was  pouring  in  through  shot- 
holes.  Both  sides  claimed  the  victory,  but 
clearly  neither  wished  to  continue  the  fight. 

The  Isle  of  Wight  witnessed  another  fierce 
encounter.  It  ended  in  a  great  strategical  suc- 
cess for  the  English,  in  that  they  drove  the 
enemy  off  and  hindered  him  from  securing  a 
base  of  operations  on  the  Isle  of  Wight. 

But   the   situation  was  growing  critical.     In 
spite  of  its  losses,  the  Armada  was  immensely 
formidable.     It  was  nearing  the  point  of  pro- 
56 


King  or  Knave 

posed  junction  with  the  Duke  of  Parma.  Should 
it  be  effected,  and  that  veteran  force  be  com- 
bined with  the  thousands  of  soldiers  on  the  fleet, 
or  even  if  the  Spanish  vessels  could  only  pro- 
tect Parma's  crossing,  those  trained  warriors, 
under  their  great  leader,  would  find  an  easy 
task  in  over-running  England,  defended  only  by 
raw  levies  led  by  no  abler  general  than  Eliza- 
beth's favorite,  Leicester. 

Something  must  be  done,  and  quickly.  The 
fleet-captains  agreed  that  skirmishing  must  give 
place  to  a  general  engagement. 

Unquestionably  there  was  deep  discourage- 
ment, too,  on  the  Armada.  The  Spaniards 
had  had  a  fearful  experience  of  the  quickness 
and  accuracy  of  the  English  fire  and  of  their 
own  inability,  on  account  of  the  nimble  tactics 
of  their  adversaries,  to  come  to  close  quarters 
and  board. 

At  last  the  Armada  had  reached  its  des- 
tination, Calais  roads,  where  his  master  had 
ordered  Medina  Sidonia  to  await  the  appear- 
ance of  Parma.  But,  to  his  great  perplexity, 
the  general  of  the  army  made  no  sign.  In  vain 
the  Captain-general  scanned  the  horizon  for 
some  indication  that  the  land  forces  were  at 
hand.  He  did  not  know  that  the  brave  Dutch, 
slighted  by  Elizabeth  though  they  had  been, 
had  come  to  England's  help  in  her  hour  of  peril, 
and  were  at  that  moment  patrolling  with  their 
fleet  the  coast  from  which  Parma  should  have 
embarked,  and  shutting  him  in. 
57 


King  or  Knave 

Sidonia's  position  was  perilous  in  the  extreme. 
He  lay  in  the  most  dangerous  part  of  the  Chan- 
nel, with  no  news  of  Parma,  with  no  port  to  go 
into,  and  with  wild  weather  brewing.  Besides, 
his  ammunition  was  running  low.  While  he 
was  sending  messengers,  asking  for  round  shot 
and  for  small,  swift  vessels  to  match  the  Eng- 
lish, and  above  all  urging  Parma  to  hasten  to  him, 
Seymour  joined  Howard  with  the  Channel  fleet, 
thirty-six  sail.  This  accession  brought  the  Eng- 
lish vessels  up  to  a  greater  number  than  the 
Spanish. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Philip's  great  scheme 
broke  down.  With  all  his  lavish  expenditure 
and  minute  care  for  details,  he  had  not  provided 
duly  for  the  junction  of  Parma  and  Sidonia. 
That  most  essential  point,  the  link  between  the 
two  lines  of  operations,  had  been  left  to  hazard. 
It  was  a  fatal  omission.  To  it  must  be  attributed 
the  disastrous  fate  of  the  Armada.  Sidonia  had 
carried  out  his  orders  faithfully.  He  had  beaten 
off  the  English  fleet  and  taken  his  vessels  and 
soldiers  to  the  prescribed  point.  Man  could  not 
do  more. 

Now  he  was  terribly  anxious,  and  with  good 
reason.  The  governor  of  Calais  had  sent  him  a 
friendly  warning  that  the  position  in  which  he 
lay  was  full  of  peril  for  his  ships,  if  a  storm 
should  come  on.  There  was  still  no  sign  of 
Parma ;  and  an  ominous  stir  among  the  English 
vessels,  lying  scarcely  more  than  a  gun-shot 
away,  indicated  some  projected  movement.  He 
58 


King  or  Knave 

especially  dreaded  fire-ships;  and  the  wind, 
blowing  straight  from  the  English,  gave  a 
splendid  opportunity  for  the  use  of  them. 

Thus  Sunday  passed,  the  two  fleets  watching 
each  other :  the  Spanish  commander  anxiously 
expecting  some  sign  from  the  coast;  the  Eng- 
lish captains  planning  some  device  for  dislodg- 
ing the  enemy. 

Night  had  come  on.  The  sky  was  momen- 
tarily growing  angry  and  threatening.  Our  two 
volunteers  were  on  deck,  looking  with  some- 
thing of  apprehension  to  the  quarter  in  which 
lay  the  hostile  array.  They  knew  that  the  next 
few  hours  would  settle  the  fate  of  England,  of 
Europe.  Around  them,  shadowy  in  the  night, 
lay  the  English  ships,  with  here  and  there  a 
lantern  hanging  from  a  mast-head,  all  in  pro- 
found stillness.  Near  them  Drake  was  pacing 
his  deck,  stopping  now  and  again  to  peer  into 
the  gloom.  There  was  a  general  feeling  that 
the  hour  was  big  with  fate. 

A  fresh  breeze  was  blowing  from  the  English 
shore.  Suddenly  a  bright  light  showed,  not  far 
from  the  Revenge.  It  spread  and  reached  up- 
ward with  amazing  rapidity. 

"  A  ship  afire !  "  exclaimed  the  young  men. 
Drake,  who  had  been  busy  all  the  day  with  some 
mysterious  preparations,  clapped  his  hands  with 
glee. 

Another  point  of  light,  rapidly  growing,  like 
the  other,  appeared,  then  another  and  another, 
until,  within  a  few  minutes,  the  sky  was  red  with 
59 


King  or  Knave 

the    flames    of   six    fire-ships    driving    swiftly 
towards  the  enemy. 

It  was  a  wild  sight.  The  flames  leaped  up 
the  rigging  and  shot  out  tongues  of  fire  upon 
the  yards.  They  climbed  the  masts  and  painted 
the  dark  cloud-mass  in  the  background  a  glow- 
ing red.  From  Dover  Cliffs  to  the  Belgian 
coast,  a  vast  arch  of  brightness  spanned  the  sky. 
Between  the  burning  vessels  and  the  observers 
the  sea  glowed  like  the  mouth  of  a  furnace. 
The  gloom  of  the  night  had  been  changed  to 
brilliance.  By  the  glare  men  on  the  English 
ships  read  exultation  in  one  another's  faces. 
The  bulwarks  and  shrouds  swarmed  with  sailors. 
On  a  vessel  a  cheer  began.  It  was  taken  up  in- 
stantly on  all,  and  thousands  of  voices  shouted 
themselves  hoarse. 

The  same  weird  light  showed  wild  terror  and 
confusion  on  the  Spanish  side.  The  ships  were 
cutting  their  cables  and  making  frantic  efforts 
to  escape.  Falling  afoul  of  one  another,  some 
became  hopelessly  entangled  and  only  got  away 
with  damaged  rigging.  Others,  more  fortunate, 
escaped  unharmed  and  under  all  sail  sped  away 
from  the  perilous  scene.  In  the  frenzy  of  fear 
no  one  thought  of  anything  but  to  save  himself 
and  his  own  ship.  Panic  had  seized  the  Dons. 
In  a  short  time,  where  the  Armada  had  ridden 
at  anchor  drifted  only  the  burning  hulks. 

By  morning  most  of  the  ships  had  gone  far 
to  leeward  and  were  off  Gravelines.     In-shore 
were  two  great  galleons,  stranded  on  the  treach- 
60 


King  or  Knave 

erous  shoals,  their  fate  sealed.  Terror  had  more 
effectually  disorganized  the  world's  wonder  than 
a  week's  fighting. 

Now  was  England's  opportunity.  The  fight- 
ing in  the  Channel  had  been  only  preliminary. 
Now  let  the  English  strike  for  their  homes  and 
for  eternal  renown !  Sunrise  saw  them  swoop- 
ing down  like  a  flight  of  eagles  upon  their 
disordered  quarry.  Scattered  along  a  perilous 
coast,  abounding  in  shoals,  toward  which  the 
wind  was  steadily  driving  them,  the  Spaniards 
for  the  greater  part  had  lost  heart  and  thought 
no  more  of  anything  but  to  escape  with  their 
lives. 

But  not  all  showed  the  white  feather.  Howard 
foolishly  turned  aside  from  the  attack,  to  follow 
a  great  galleasse  which  he  saw  disabled,  close 
in  shore,  trying  to  work  into  Calais.  His 
squadron  followed  him.  The  Don,  finding  him- 
self hard  pushed,  ran  his  ship  aground  on  a 
sand-bank,  under  the  guns  of  Calais  castle,  and 
fought  her  like  a  Turk.  Several  English  vessels 
and  a  whole  fleet  of  small  boats  hammered  him 
with  cannon  and  pelted  him  with  musketry. 
But  it  was  only  when  the  gallant  Mongada  fell, 
with  a  bullet  between  the  eyes,  that  his  ship  was 
taken.  The  English  sailors  swarmed  over  her 
sides  and  high  castles,  looting,  intoxicated  with 
success. 

Next  appeared  on  the  scene  French  officers 
from  the  castle,  claiming  the  ship  as  a  prize 
taken  in  French  waters.  The  sailors  jeered 
61 


King  or  Knave 

at  them  and  plundered  them  also.  Then  the 
guns  of  the  castle,  held  by  Leaguers,  opened 
on  the  captors  and  drove  them  off.  But  as  they 
scurried  over  the  sides,  they  carried  away  with 
them  twenty-two  thousand  golden  scudi. 

In  the  mean  time  Drake  had  splendidly  re- 
trieved Howard's  error  by  charging  straight  into 
the  midst  of  the  Spaniards  trying  to  get  them- 
selves together  in  some  kind  of  order. 

Sidonia,  no  seaman,  but  a  brave  man,  bore 
himself  splendidly.  Throwing  himself  in  front 
of  his  vessels  trying  to  gain  an  offing,  he  took 
the  whole  English  fire.  The  Revenge,  the  Tri- 
umph, the  Victory,  and  some  smaller  vessels 
belabored  him,  while  the  Rainbow,  the  Ante- 
lope, and  the  Vanguard  bore  down  upon  one 
wing.  The  fighting  was  of  the  most  furious, 
and  at  musket  range.  The  sea-rovers  were  in 
their  element.  With  their  light  vessels  they 
manoeuvred  among  their  bulky  adversaries, 
poured  deadly  volleys  into  their  tall  sides, 
riddled  them,  splintered  their  masts  and  yards, 
and  tore  their  sails  to  shreds. 

The  Spanish  officers  fought  their  shattered 
ships  heroically.  The  carnage  among  them  was 
fearful.  Men  who  had  been  at  Lepanto  said  it 
was  child's  play  to  Gravelines.  The  fate  of 
Europe  hung  on  this  encounter,  and  both  sides 
fought  with  a  sense  of  its  import. 

The  English  ships,  bent  on  finishing  the 
enemy,  rushed  in  among  their  scattered  ships 
like  a  pack  of  wolves  and  worried  and  tore 
62 


King  or  Knave 

them  right  and  left.  The  roar  of  cannon  was 
incessant.  A  great  curtain  of  smoke  shrouded 
the  sea.  Out  of  this  the  lighter  vessels  occa- 
sionally emerged  to  reload,  for  they  fought  with 
their  sails  set.  Then,  plunging  in  again,  they 
chose  a  victim  and  poured  a  broadside  into  him, 
then  circled  around  and  gave  him  the  other. 
The  larger  ships  loosed  their  topsails  and  fought 
stationary,  with  their  main  and  foreyards  close 
down  on  deck,  to  prevent  being  boarded. 

The  constant  endeavor  of  the  Armada  was  to 
get  away  from  the  shoals  into  the  North  Sea. 
But  their  enemy  insisted  on  pushing  them  on 
the  deadly  lee-shore.  The  Spaniards'  predica- 
ment was  a  dire  one,  between  the  devil,  the 
hungry,  treacherous  Zeeland  banks,  and  the 
deep  sea,  where  the  Bear,  the  Lion,  and  their 
like  ravened. 

Of  all  the  brave  Spaniards,  Don  Francisco  de 
Toledo,  in  the  San  Felipe,  and  Don  Diego 
Pimentel,  in  the  San  Mateo,  bore  away  the  palm. 
Each  was  cut  off  and  surrounded,  but  would 
not  hear  of  surrender.  Toledo  ran  his  sword 
through  an  officer  who  was  about  to  cut  the  hal- 
yards of  the  flag.  With  upper  works  all  shot 
away,  helm  shattered,  spars  about  his  ears,  guns 
dismantled,  and  water  pouring  in  through  shot- 
holes,  Pimentel  continued  to  fight  with  musketry. 
Feeling  his  ship  sinking,  he  tried  to  board  the 
nearest  enemy,  but  could  not  approach  any. 
An  English  officer  climbed  the  rigging,  clear  of 
the  smoke,  and  shouted,  "Brave  fellows,  sur- 
63 


King  or  Knave 

render !  You  shall  have  the  good  treatment  you 
deserve."  A  Spaniard  levelled  his  musket  and 
brought  down  the  Englishman.  The  battle  was 
renewed. 

So,  for  eight  mortal  hours,  the  fight  raged. 
Three  Spanish  ships  sank  on  the  spot.  Others 
drifted,  unmanageable,  upon  the  fatal  sand- 
banks. Altogether,  sixteen  were  sacrificed. 
Both  the  heroic  San  Mateo  and  San  Felipe 
drifted  on  the  Zeeland  coast  and  were  taken. 
Over  fourteen  hundred  Spaniards  were  killed  or 
wounded  by  the  deadly  low  fire  of  the  English. 
The  latter  lost  less  than  one  hundred. 

A  squall  swept  down  on  the  contending  fleets 
and  saved  the  Armada  from  utter  destruction. 
Torrents  of  rain  rendered  firing  impossible.  The 
English  held  up  to  the  wind.  The  Spaniards, 
too  much  disabled,  ran  before  it. 

Amid  the  general  carnage,  Fourcade  witnessed 
a  singular  tragedy.  A  great  galleon  was  drift- 
ing, dismasted  and  foundering,  towards  the 
shore.  Some  Dutch  vessels  put  out  and  seized 
her.  She  was  a  splendid  prize.  But  what  es- 
pecially excited  the  interest  of  her  captors  was  a 
number  of  casks  of  Spanish  wine.  The  thirsty 
Hollanders,  devoting  themselves  assiduously  to 
this  portion  of  her  stores,  failed  to  notice  that 
she  was  sinking.  Suddenly  there  was  a  cry  of 
dismay.  The  great  hull  plunged  into  the  deep, 
carrying  with  her  three  hundred  wretches,  more 
or  less  drunk.  The  Revenge  put  out  her  boats 
and  rescued  a  few  who  swam.  But  the  most 
64 


King  or  Knave 

of  the  bibulous  Hollanders  ended  their  short 
carouse  in  a  long  sleep. 

So  ended  this  eventful  day  for  Christendom. 
It  was  decisive.  The  survivors  of  the  Armada 
could  never  be  re-formed  for  attack.  All  thought 
of  assailing  Elizabeth  on  her  own  soil  must  be 
abandoned.  The  only  thing  remaining  for  Si- 
donia  was  to  get  away  as  quickly  as  possible, 
with  all  his  ships  that  he  could  save.  But  how? 
To  pass  the  Channel  again,  with  the  cruel  sea- 
rovers  incessantly  hovering  on  his  flanks,  can- 
nonading him  and  cutting  off  every  straggler, 
was  a  thing  not  to  be  dreamed  of.  He  must 
sail  around  Scotland.  It  would  be  a  long  and 
perilous  circuit  about  those  stormy,  rock-bound 
coasts;  but  it  was  his  sole  hope. 

Now  followed  a  night  of  deadly  peril  and  cruel 
anxiety  for  the  Spaniards.  With  a  lowering  sky 
overhead,  with  their  relentless  enemy  hanging 
on  to  windward  of  them,  they  seemed  to  be 
drifting  towards  their  fate.  Every  hour  their 
water  shoaled.  The  pilots  declared  it  impos- 
sible for  them  to  live  long  on  that  course. 
The  Dons  confessed  themselves  and  awaited 
death. 

Towards  morning,  as  if  by  a  miracle,  the 
wind  suddenly  eased  off  a  point  or  two,  and 
the  remnant,  snatched  from  the  jaws  of  de- 
struction, stood  out  into  the  deeps  of  the 
North  Sea. 

The  English  for  several  days  hovered  on  their 
rear,  making  a  brave  show,  but  without  firing  a 
5  65 


King  or  Knave 

shot.  Their  ammunition  was  exhausted.  When 
they  were  satisfied  that  the  Dons  were  beyond 
the  possibility  of  doing  any  mischief,  they  turned 
and  sailed  home. 

What  man  had  left  unfinished  the  storms  of 
the  northern  seas  completed.  The  shores  of 
Scotland,  the  Orkneys,  and  Ireland  were  strewn 
with  the  wrecks  of  the  Spanish  ships  and  with 
the  bodies  of  thousands  of  men.  In  the  autumn 
a  small  remnant  of  the  world's  wonder  found  its 
way  back  to  Corunna. 

Jean  Fourcade  returned  to  his  master  with 
the  tidings  of  this  amazing  victory  which  re- 
vived the  courage  of  all  the  Protestant  world, 
in  stamping  the  Reformation,  it  was  held,  with 
the  seal  of  God's  blessing. 


66 


CHAPTER  THE   FIFTH 

How  the  King  of  Navarre,  following  love's  light, 
encounters  a  Ghost  and  lays  it. 

THE  road  being  open  between  Henry  of 
Navarre  and  the  Chateau  of  Cceuvres  through 
the  withdrawal  of  Mayenne,  it  was  to  be  ex- 
pected that  he  would  seize  the  opportunity  of 
visiting  its  fair  mistress.  He  did  not,  however. 
Day  after  day  he  lingered  at  Saint  Jean  d'Ange"ly, 
amusing  his  leisure  with  hunting  and  hawking, 
but  doing  nothing  towards  pushing  his  love- 
affair. 

In  truth,  he  found  himself  in  a  dilemma.  On 
the  one  hand,  he  could  not  reconcile  himself  to 
quit  the  neighborhood  without  one  more  inter- 
view with  Gabrielle.  A  circumstance  lately 
come  to  his  knowledge  led  him  to  believe  that 
he  would  meet  with  treatment  from  her  quite 
other  than  that  which  he  had  lately  experienced. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  an 
interview  was  great.  Present  himself  openly  he 
durst  not.  The  meeting  must  be  brought  about 
clandestinely.  But  how?  He  could  not  expect 
to  gain  admission  a  second  time  in  disguise. 
Fertile  as  his  mind  was  in  resources,  it  did  not 
suggest  any  method  of  attaining  his  end. 
67 


King  or  Knave 

So  he  lingered,  hoping  that  chance  would  do 
for  him  what  design  seemed  unable  to  accom- 
plish. Had  he  known  that  two  tender  hearts 
were  beating  in  sympathy  with  him,  and  two 
ingenious  minds  were  working  on  the  problem 
which  perplexed  him,  he  would  have  experienced 
great  relief. 

One  day  a  young  man  asked  to  see  the  King 
of  Navarre  in  person.  He  was  shown  in.  No 
sooner  did  the  Huguenot  leader  lay  eyes  on  him 
than  he  recognized  the  page  of  Coeuvres.  But 
he  made  no  sign. 

"Well,  my  good  fellow,"  he  said,  "what  is  it 
that  you  wish?" 

"  May  it  please  your  Highness  to  grant  me 
redress  for  a  great  wrong  that  some  of  your  sol- 
diers have  done?  My  grandmother  lives  near 
by.  Two  days  since  some  of  your  men  came 
and  seized  a  pig  which  she  was  fattening ;  and 
when  she  begged  and  pleaded  with  them  to 
spare  the  prop  of  her  old  age,  they  laughed  and 
jeered  at  her  and  carried  it  away  before  her 
eyes." 

"  A  sad  story,  truly,"  laughingly  replied  the 
King  of  Navarre.  "  And,  pray,  what  would  you 
have  me  do  ?  " 

"If  your  Highness  would  compel  the  robbers 
to  pay  the  price  of  the  pig,  which,  no  doubt, 
they  have  by  this  time  eaten,  it  would  be  some 
solace  of  my  poor  grandmother's  distress." 

"  Ha !  ha !  That  is  a  most  reasonable  re- 
quest, indeed.  You  would  have  me  marshal 
68 


King  or  Knave 

my  army  and  make  inquest  for  a  lost  pig! 
Think  you,  sirrah,  that  where  an  army  is  to  be 
fed,  soldiers  may  be  held  to  account  for  every 
pig  or  goose  or  chicken  that  disappears?  Get 
you  gone  speedily !  " 

"  But,  your  Highness,"  pleaded  the  other, 
earnestly,  "  this  was  no  common  pig.  It  was  a 
fat  pig,  and  beautifully  spotted,  and  my  grand- 
mother's pet  in  the  bargain." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  her.  She  should 
keep  her  pets  better.  Begone,  I  say." 

"  I  pray  your  Highness  to  hear  me.     This 

Pig- 

"  Monsieur  d'Aubign6,  do  me  the  favor  of  call- 
ing the  officer  of  the  guard." 

The  gentleman  addressed,  who  had  been  sit- 
ting by,  rose  and  went  out. 

No  sooner  had  he  left  the  room  than  Gaspard, 
seeing  himself  alone  with  the  King  of  Navarre, 
suddenly  lowered  his  voice,  and,  coming  near, 
with  a  mysterious  manner,  said,  "  Never  mind 
the  pig,  your  Highness.  Here  is  the  important 
thing."  At  the  same  time  he  drew  from  his 
pocket  and  presented  a  note  addressed  in  a 
sprawling  handwriting  to  His  Highness,  the 
King  of  Navarre,  and  sealed  with  a  great  dab 
of  wax,  without  a  crest. 

The  latter  saw  that  there  was  something  un- 
usual afoot.  He  quickly  tore  open  the  missive 
and  read  its  contents. 

They  ran  thus :  "  If  the  wood-cutter  who  tells 
such  beautiful  stories  has  need  of  friends  in  his 
69 


King  or  Knave 

affairs,  let  him  know  that  he  has  two  who  will 
not  fail  him.  He  can  meet  them,  if  he  will  come 
to-morrow  evening.  The  bearer  will  guide  him. 
His  faithful  servants,  D.  and  L." 

Henry  of  Navarre  looked  up  and  saw  Gas- 
pard  smiling  knowingly  in  his  face.  "  Well, 
my  young  man,"  he  said,  laughingly,  "  we  have 
met  before  to-day.  These  are  the  fair  Diana 
and  Lisette,  I  presume,  who  have  sent  me  this 
note." 

"  Just  so,  your  Highness." 

"  And  how  did  they  learn  that  there  is  any- 
thing in  which  they  can  help  me  ?  " 

"That  question  it  is  not  for  me  to  answer. 
But  if  your  Highness  have  patience,  all  will  be 
made  clear  in  due  time." 

Just  then  D'Aubigne  returned  with  the  officer 
of  the  guard.  The  latter  hurried  forward  to 
seize  the  offender,  expecting  an  order  to  give 
him  a  taste  of  the  wooden  horse.  What  was 
his  surprise,  when  he  was  checked  by  a  ges- 
ture from  the  King  of  Navarre,  who  sat  smiling 
broadly. 

"  Captain,"  he  said,  "  take  this  lad  and  see 
that  he  has  lodging  and  good  cheer.  You  need 
not  guard  him.  He  won't  run  away.  To-mor- 
row I  ride  with  him  in  quest  of  his  grandmother's 
fat,  spotted,  pet  pig." 

The  next  day  the  hero  of  Coutras,  like  a 
knight  of  the  Round  Table  sallying  forth  to 
seek  the  Holy  Grail,  rode  away  with  Gaspard 
as  his  squire. 

70 


King  or  Knave 

It  was  near  evening  when  the  two  horsemen 
reached  the  vicinity  of  Cceuvres.  Gaspard  led 
his  companion  to  a  glade  from  which,  through 
the  tall  trunks,  the  chateau  was  seen  in  the 
distance.  Here  he  bade  him  await  the  com- 
ing of  his  friends.  A  warier  man  would  have 
hesitated  to  accept  such  a  situation.  But 
caution  had  little  part  in  the  make-up  of  Henry 
of  Navarre.  On  this  occasion,  as  it  proved, 
none  was  needed. 

Before  long  he  saw  two  figures  approaching, 
which  he  at  once  recognized  as  those  of  Diana 
and  Lisette. 

"  My  faith !  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  should  be 
well  content  to  entertain  either  singly." 

He  greeted  them  most  cordially.  At  first 
the  women  were  a  little  shy.  They  were  not 
quite  sure  of  their  ground  in  thrusting  them- 
selves into  the  affairs  of  so  illustrious  a  per- 
sonage. But  the  unaffected  geniality  of  their 
visitor  quickly  put  them  at  their  ease.  Ere 
long  the  heir  to  the  second  throne  of  Christen- 
dom and  the  two  servant-women  of  Cceuvres 
were  laughing  and  chatting  as  gayly  as  if  they 
had  been  reared  in  a  palace  or  he  in  a  peasant's 
cot. 

"  Mes  belles,"  cried  he,  "  this  is  truly  charm- 
ing. You  are  most  kind  in  giving  me  this  pleas- 
ure, with  your  aid  in  prosecuting  my  enterprise. 
But  tell  me,  I  beg  you,  how  did  you  find  me 
out?" 

Then  Lisette,  with  many  an  interruption  from 


King  or  Knave 

the  dark  Provengale  and  many  a  burst  of  laugh- 
ter from  the  whole  trio,  told  her  story.  Navarre 
winced  a  little  when  she  related  her  eaves- 
dropping and,  with  unconscious  mimicry,  re- 
peated some  of  the  impassioned  phrases  and 
lofty  boasts  which  had  made  a  great  impression 
upon  her. 

"  Dame !  "  she  said,  "  the  moment  I  heard 
you  say,  '  I  shall  come  again,  Mademoiselle,  to 
lay  at  your  feet  the  banners  of  a  conquered 
army/  says  I  to  myself,  '  My  faith  !  That  must 
be  the  Bearnais ; '  because  I  remembered  how 
people  said  that,  after  the  battle  of  Coutras,  you 
carried  away  the  King's  army's  flags  and  laid 
them  down  in  the  Countess  de  Quiche's  hall 
and  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her  over 
them." 

"  By  our  Lady !  "  burst  in  Diana,  unwilling  to 
be  outshone  in  perspicacity,  "  the  first  time  I 
clapped  my  eyes  on  you  standing  in  the  door- 
way, says  I  to  myself,  '  That  is  no  wood-chopper. 
That  is  some  great  seigneur  who  is  on  a  frolic 
or,  may  be,  escaping  from  his  enemies.'  Diana 
Bouvary  knows  a  gentleman  when  she  sees 
one." 

"  Ha !  ha !  "  roared  Navarre,  "  what  of  your 
invitation  to  come  in  and  spin  my  Gascon 
yarns?" 

"  Oh,  dame !  "  replied  the  other,  disconcerted 

at   this    reminiscence,    but  with   a   bold    front, 

"  that  was  only  a  bit  of  chaff.     You  would  not 

have  had  me  betray  you  to  the  others,  by  get- 

72 


King  or  Knave 

ting  down  on  my  knees  and  asking  leave  to  kiss 
your  hand,  would  you?  " 

Lisette  resumed  her  recital.  Her  conviction 
that  the  disguised  suitor  of  her  young  mistress 
was  the  King  of  Navarre,  though  it  was  over- 
whelmed with  Barbezoux's  contempt  when  she 
expressed  it,  had  remained  unshaken.  When 
she  learned  that  the  army  of  the  League  had 
withdrawn,  but  the  Huguenot  leader  still  lin- 
gered at  Saint  Jean  d'Ange"ly,  she  was  filled  with 
a  great  desire  to  ascertain  whether  her  surmise 
was  correct. 

In  Diana  she  found  an  enthusiastic  co-worker. 
She  was  more  than  willing  to  put  Lisette's  sug- 
gestion to  the  test.  For  the  King  of  Navarre's 
birth  in  her  beloved  South  and  his  reputation 
as  "  a  devil  of  a  fellow  for  love-affairs  "  made 
him,  heretic  though  he  was,  a  favorite  hero  of 
hers. 

The  two  women,  then,  put  their  heads  together 
to  devise  a  plan.  Help  from  Barbezoux  was,  of 
course,  out  of  the  question.  His  faintest  sus- 
picion must  be  avoided;  but  Gaspard  was  a 
hopeful  subject.  True,  he  did  not  feel  over- 
kindly  toward  the  stranger  who  had  so  quickly 
gained  a  place  in  Lisette's  interest;  but,  after 
all,  he  was  in  the  pliant  stage  of  love.  What 
would  he  not  do?  Lisette  undertook  to  answer 
for  his  help.  And  she  made  good  her  pledge. 

The  matter  was  accordingly  arranged.  On  the 
plea  of  having  important  business  at  Saint  Jean 
d'Angely,  Gaspard  was  to  obtain  leave  of  absence 
73 


King  or  Knave 

for  two  days.  With  a  joint  note  of  the  allied 
powers  in  his  pocket,  he  was  to  devise  some 
pretext  for  obtaining  an  audience  of  the  King 
of  Navarre.  If  he  recognized  in  him  their  late 
guest,  he  must  make  an  opportunity  of  delivering 
his  despatch  unobserved. 

Henry  of  Navarre  completed  the  recital  by 
relating,  with  much  merriment  of  the  whole  trio, 
the  story  of  the  fat,  spotted,  pet  pig  of  Gaspard's 
grandmother.  It  was  that  ingenious  youth's  ex- 
clusive invention,  and  he  was  very  proud  of  it. 

Decidedly  they  had  a  jolly  time  together, 
these  three,  a  king  and  two  servant-women. 
Then  came  up  the  serious  business  of  the  hour. 
To  bring  about  a  meeting  between  the  young 
chatelaine  and  her  suitor  was  the  object  which 
all  desired.  But  how  was  it  to  be  effected? 
Now,  when  the  lover  was  on  the  spot,  nothing 
feasible  suggested  itself.  Various  plans  were 
proposed;  but  each  was  open  to  some  objec- 
tion. 

After  a  while  Lisette  said  thoughtfully,  "  If 
only  we  could  keep  his  Highness  here  !  Then, 
whenever  anything  favorable  may  happen,  we 
can  put  him  in  the  way  of  seizing  the  chance." 

"  Yes,"  chimed  in  Diana.  "  We  surely  must 
not  let  his  Highness  go  away  without  speaking 
with  our  young  lady." 

Suddenly  Lisette  clapped  her  hands  with  glee. 
"  I  have  it !  "  she  cried.  "  How  stupid  of  us 
not  to  think  of  it  sooner !  We  will  keep  him  in 
the  chateau  itself." 

74 


King  or  Knave 

"  What  an  idea !  Have  you  lost  your  wits, 
Lisette?  "  exclaimed  Diana. 

"  Not  at  all.  It  can  be  done ;  and  we  shall 
do  it." 

"  Where  could  we  put  him,  for  example?" 

"  In  the  Countess  Anne's  chamber." 

"  In  the  Countess  Anne's  chamber  indeed ! 
Surely,  you  are  crazy,  Lisette.  You  know  well, 
it  is  haunted.  And  the  last  guest  who  tried 
sleeping  there  rushed  out  shrieking  in  the  dead 
of  the  night,  and,  they  say,  when  morning  came, 
his  hair  was  white." 

"  My  faith !  "  laughed  Henry,  "  that  is  a 
gloomy  picture  you  draw.  Yet,  do  you  know, 
mes  belles,  if  there  is  not  any  more  substantial 
difficulty  than  ghosts,  I  think  I  shall  try  it?  I 
have  had  my  full  share  of  adventures  with  flesh 
and  blood.  And  now  I  am  longing  to  have  an 
encounter  with  a  spectre  to  round  out  my  expe- 
riences. But  why,  pray,  is  it  called  the  Countess 
Anne's  chamber?" 

"  They  say  that  long  ago,"  began  Diana,  in 
awestruck  tones,  "  a  Countess  of  Coeuvres  did 
something  which  caused  her  husband  to  lock 
her  up,  like  that  poor  lady  of  Roussillon  that 
you  told  us  about.  She  died  in  that  room. 
And  nobody  ever  knew  whether  she  was  stabbed 
or  poisoned  or  starved  to  death.  For  many 
years  the  room  was  kept  unopened.  Then, 
after  the  old  baron  was  dead,  and  people  had 
ceased  to  talk  of  the  story,  once,  when  the 
house  was  full  of  guests,  one  was  put  there 
75 


King  or  Knave 

to  sleep.  And,  in  the  night,  when  all  was  still, 
he  roused  the  whole  chateau  with  frightful 
shrieks.  They  found  him  shivering  in  his  bed  ; 
and  he  vowed  he  had  seen  an  apparition  fully 
eight  feet  high  —  " 

"  And  moaning  and  clanking  a  chain,  was  it 
not?"  interrupted  Lisette. 

"  Yes,  just  so,  —  groaning  and  moaning  and 
rattling  a  chain.  And  every  time  that  anybody 
has  tried  to  sleep  there,  though  nobody  had  told 
him  anything  about  it,  it  has  always  been  the 
same.  And  the  last  one  had  his  hair  turned 
white  all  in  a  moment,  and  came  near  to  going 
quite  daft.  Then  the  room  was  shut  up  alto- 
gether. And  now,  since  the  family  is  so  small, 
only  the  master  and  our  young  lady,  and  the 
young  master  away  in  the  army,  and  Monsieur 
le  Baron  not  so  rich  as  his  fathers,  by  reason  of 
the  wars,  and  rarely  has  any  guests,  all  that 
wing  of  the  chateau  is  quite  unused,  and  nobody 
ever  enters  it.  Bah  !  I  would  not  be  alone  there 
in  the  dark,  no,  not  if  one  gave  me  a  bed  of 
gold  to  sleep  in  to  be  mine  forever.  And  I 
wonder,  Lisette,  how  you  could  propose  it  for  his 
Highness." 

"  Ha !  ma  belle,"  cried  Henry,  "  you  tell  a 
story  famously ;  so  that  you  have  fired  me  with 
a  desire  to  test  this  wonderful  chamber.  Doubt- 
less the  Countess  Anne  will  not  begrudge  a 
houseless  gentleman  a  night's  lodging  in  her 
bed,  since  she  has  no  longer  use  for  it." 

Lisette's    eagerness   and   Navarre's    audacity 
76 


King  or  Knave 

finally  overcame  Diana's  terrors,  and  she  fell  in 
with  the  plan.  In  truth,  the  romance  and  the 
daring  of  the  scheme  of  entertaining  an  illus- 
trious guest,  a  lover,  too,  in  the  chdteau,  without 
the  knowledge  of  any  one  but  themselves,  —  for 
not  even  Gaspard  could  be  admitted  to  their 
confidence  in  this  particular,  —  quite  captivated 
the  imaginations  of  the  women.  More  than  ever 
they  felt  as  if  they  had  been  suddenly  translated 
from  their  commonplace  tasks  to  important 
parts  in  a  thrilling  drama  of  high  life. 

The  details  were  quickly  arranged.  Diana 
would  slip  away  to  a  cottage  near  by,  where 
lived  a  crony  of  hers,  one  Antoine  Lejeune,  who 
would  care  for  Navarre's  horse  and  keep  the 
matter  quiet.  The  two  women  would  prepare 
the  chamber  for  their  guest's  occupation.  And 
at  the  signal  of  a  light  shown  in  a  certain  win- 
dow of  the  ground-floor  which  they  designated, 
he  would  know  that  all  was  in  readiness. 

Henry  of  Navarre  accompanied  his  two  allies 
near  to  the  chateau  and  then  remained  under 
the  shadow  of  the  trees  while  they  entered. 

The  building  had  once  been  an  imposing 
one.  But  now  its  condition  testified  to  the 
fallen  fortunes  of  its  present  occupants.  Espe- 
cially that  portion  opposite  the  observer  was 
well-nigh  ruinous.  This  circumstance  did  not 
escape  his  quick  eye.  It  interested  him  greatly, 
because  of  its  bearing  on  his  hopes.  He 
shrewdly  surmised  that  something  of  the  pinch 
of  poverty  might  account  for  that  calculating 
77 


King  or  Knave 

character  which  Gabrielle  had  so  markedly 
shown  in  her  late  conversation  with  him.  And, 
with  his  unbounded  faith  in  his  destiny,  he  en- 
couraged himself  with  the  thought  that  here 
was  a  beauty  who  would  not  show  herself  insen- 
sible to  the  merits  of  a  lover  who  might  come 
crowned  with  the  gifts  of  fortune. 

The  circumstances  in  which  he  found  himself 
were  for  his  romantic  temper  full  of  inspiration. 
To  sleep  under  a  gentleman's  roof,  solely  as  the 
clandestine  guest  of  the  female  domestics,  not 
only  did  not  embarrass  him,  it  seemed  ideally 
picturesque.  It  was  a  situation  that  rivalled 
those  tales  of  Boccaccio  on  which,  as  he  truly 
said,  his  youth  had  been  fed.  And  the  prospect 
of  occupying  a  chamber  reputed  to  be  haunted 
by  the  distressed  spirit  of  a  murdered  woman 
filled  his  cup  of  happiness.  He  awaited  with 
eagerness  the  signal  which  would  summon  him 
to  this  novel  adventure. 

When  he  saw  a  light  in  the  designated  win- 
dow, he  advanced  to  it.  Lisette  set  down  her 
candle  and  leaned  out,  stretching  her  hands 
down  to  him.  By  the  aid  of  these  and  of  such 
foot-hold  as  he  found  in  the  masonry,  Navarre 
clambered  up  and  found  himself  in  a  room  bare 
of  furniture  and  pervaded  with  the  musty  odor 
of  an  apartment  long  unopened.  From  this  his 
fair  guide  conducted  him  through  a  corridor, 
up  a  flight  of  creaking  stairs,  deeply  overlaid 
with  dust,  to  a  second  gallery,  by  which  the 
chamber  intended  for  his  use  was  reached. 
78 


King  or  Knave 

With  wonderful  despatch  the  two  women  had 
fitted  it  for  occupation.  Though  the  evening 
was  mild,  a  bright  fire  on  the  hearth  crackled 
merrily  and  quickly  dispelled  the  dampness. 
Two  tall  candles  burned  on  the  mantel.  Their 
light  fell  on  a  table  covered  with  snowy  linen 
and  garnished  with  a  tempting  array  of  cold 
viands,  flanked  by  a  tall  silver  tankard  brim- 
ming with  the  baron's  choicest  vintage.  An 
immensely  wide,  low  bedstead  had  been  freshly 
covered  and  invited  to  repose. 

"  My  faith !  "  said  Navarre  laughingly,  as  he 
surveyed  the  cosy  aspect  of  the  chamber,  "  the 
Countess  Anne  entertains  her  guests  right  roy- 
ally. A  thousand  thanks  to  her  fair  and  worthy 
representative,"  with  a  low  bow  to  Lisette. 

The  maid,  herself  well  pleased  with  the  result 
of  her  own  and  Diana's  labors,  and  gratified  with 
their  guest's  praise,  looked  around  with  an  air 
of  satisfaction,  lingering  in  the  doorway.  Then 
she  said,  "  Good-night,  your  Highness.  May 
you  rest  well  and  be  undisturbed  !  " 

"Thanks  and  good-night,  my  beauty,"  said 
her  guest.  In  a  moment  his  arm  was  about  her, 
and  he  paid  her  the  gallant  tribute  of  a  kiss,  an 
attention  which  she  met  with  only  a  feeble 
protest. 

Then  he  fell  upon  the  viands  with  the  appe- 
tite which  his  fast  since  morning  and  his  long 
ride  had  provoked. 

"Ha!"  he  said,  laughing  to  himself,  "Bar- 
bezoux  little  thought,  when  he  so  cunningly 
79 


King  or  Knave 

builded  this  venison-pasty,  what  lying  Gascon 
would  regale  himself  therewith.  And  what 
would  the  crusty  old  baron  do,  if  some  mali- 
cious sprite  should  whisper  in  his  ear  who, 
under  his  very  roof,  is  quaffing  his  fine  old  wine, 
—  an  angel  entertained  unawares?  " 

Having  finished  his  meal,  he  planted  himself 
before  the  fire  and  took  a  leisurely  survey  of 
his  surroundings. 

The  chamber  was  garnished  with  antique  and 
massive  furniture.  The  posts  of  the  huge  bed- 
stead were  wrought  into  grotesque  shapes  of 
hissing  monsters  reared  on  their  tails  and  glar- 
ing into  space  with  fiery  eyes  and  protruding 
tongues.  They  supported  a  canopy  of  tapestry, 
upon  which  some  hand,  long  since  dead,  per- 
haps that  of  the  unfortunate  Countess  Anne, 
had  embroidered  the  loves  of  Jupiter  and  Leda. 
The  walls  were  similarly  ornamented,  but  with 
edifying  scriptural  subjects,  such  as  the  story 
of  David  and  Uriah's  wife,  and  that  of  Susanna 
and  the  Elders.  Against  the  two  windows  hung 
faded  curtains,  decayed  and  tattered.  One 
flapped  faintly  in  the  night-wind  blowing  in 
softly  through  a  broken  pane. 

But  the  effect  of  this  dismal  environment  was 
relieved  by  the  cheerful  aspect  of  the  prep- 
arations which  had  been  made  for  the  guest. 

"  It  is  not  a  bad  place  for  a  hermit,  by  Jove ! 

such  as  I  am,"   said   Navarre,    looking   around 

with  the  complacency  which   good  cheer  and 

generous  wine  breed  in  the  healthy  male  breast. 

80 


King  or  Knave 

"  Methinks,  with  such  fare  and,  parbleu !  such 
attendance,  I  can  endure  a  quite  lengthened 
seclusion  here.  Ah,  that  suggests  a  thought. 
Given  the  same  conditions,  warmth,  wine,  and 
good  food,  would  Saint  Anthony  have  come 
down  in  holy  legend  as  the  invincible  resister 
of  bright-eyed  temptation?  Ah,  methinks  not, 
good  saint !  Methinks,  I  see  you  falling  as  in- 
evitably as  that  other  Anthony  who  fathered 
me.  Oh,  what  tricky  sprite  moved  my  grand- 
parents to  call  their  boy  Anthony,  of  all  names 
in  the  wide  world?  Surely,  they  did  not  dream 
that  he  would  emulate  the  austerity  of  the 
saint.  More  likely,  they  had  been  reading 
Plutarch,  and  it  was  the  Anthony  of  Cleopatra 
whom  they  had  in  mind.  And  a  very  fit  name 
it  proved  to  be,  by  all  accounts.  By  the  same 
token,  the  name  might  have  been  passed  on  to 
my  father's  son  without  receiving  discredit. 
Yes,  my  faith !  I  have  lived  pretty  well  up  to 
the  family  record.  Let  me  see.  My  father," 
counting  on  his  fingers,  —  "  my  mother's  father, 
my  grand-uncle  Francis,  the  most  renowned 
of  them  all,  free  lances  and  Boccacians,  every 
one  of  them,  not  to  mention  some  eccentricities 
on  the  female  side.  There  was  my  gentle 
grandmother  Marguerite's  '  Heptarheron,'  for 
example.  Ha!  What  is  that  noise?" 

A  slight  rustle  in  the  corridor  had  aroused 

his   attention.     He  listened.     A  soft  step  was 

heard  approaching.     "  Can   it  be,"   he  said  to 

himself   smilingly,   "  that  the   Countess  Anne 

6  81 


King  or  Knave 

comes  so  early?  It  is  yet  far  from  the  witching 
hour  when  graves  do  yawn  and  ghosts  re-visit 
their  former  abodes." 

The  step  came  nearer,  and  in  a  moment  the 
dark-eyed  daughter  of  Roussillon  stood  in  the 
doorway,  shading  a  candle  with  her  hand  and 
looking  at  him  shyly. 

"  I  am  come,  your  Highness,  to  see  how  you 
fare  and  to  wish  you  a  good-night." 

Then  the  thought  of  his  peril  in  the  haunted 
chamber  overcame  her,  and  she  added,  with 
tears  welling  up,  "  Oh,  indeed,  your  Highness, 
it  breaks  my  heart  to  think  of  you  lying  here 
alone  in  the  dark  in  this  awful  place." 

She  stood  looking  at  him  with  big,  wistful 
eyes,  the  very  embodiment  of  sympathetic 
womanhood.  Who  could  see  her  without  some 
responsive  thrill?  Not  Navarre. 

With  a  pardonable  desire  to  please,  Diana  had 
touched  up  her  toilet  with  some  care  for  this 
occasion,  her  first  formal  visit  to  her  distin- 
guished guest.  Her  ebony  hair  was  freshly 
combed  and  plaited.  A  short  petticoat,  of 
bright  red  stuff,  such  as  the  women  of  the  South 
dearly  love,  falling  a  little  below  the  knees, 
revealed  shapely  limbs  encased  in  sky-blue  stock- 
ings, which  terminated  in  dainty  slippers  of  black 
morocco  leather  with  upturned,  pointed  toes, 
and  fastened  with  rosettes  of  red  ribbon. 

She  had  come,  good  soul,  on  an  errand  of 
solace  and  cheer ;  and  Henry  of  Navarre  was 
not  the  man  to  show  himself  unappreciative  of 
82 


King  or  Knave 

her  solicitude.  Their  positions  had  become 
reversed,  and  it  now  behooved  him  to  act  the 
comforter.  This  he  did  by  changing  the  sub- 
ject to  a  more  agreeable  theme. 

After  all  said  and  done,  however,  her  heart 
seemed  heavy  with  forebodings  of  evil ;  and, 
when  she  finally  took  her  departure,  she  left 
him  with  evident  reluctance  to  the  mysterious 
experiences  which  she  so  much  dreaded. 

"  My  faith !  "  he  said  to  himself  laughingly, 
"  I  little  imagined  that  the  temptation  of  Saint 
Anthony  was  to  be  re-enacted  in  this  old 
chamber.  But  how  little  worthy  of  his  role 
would  the  good  saint  think  me,  poor  heretic, 
whose  virtues  are  not  at  all  of  the  ascetic 
order!" 

Then  the  occupant  of  the  haunted  chamber 
made  an  inspection  of  his  quarters.  Having 
ascertained  that  the  walls  were  solid,  and  that 
there  was  no  place  of  concealment  behind  the 
tapestries,  he  proceeded  to  fasten  the  door. 
He  found  that  it  had  neither  key  nor  bolt,  and 
was  fain  to  content  himself  with  dropping  the 
latch. 

"  It  is  no  matter,"  he  said  laughingly,  "  for, 
by  all  reports  of  their  ways,  hobgoblins,  like 
lovers,  make  small  account  of  bolts  and  bars.  I 
suppose  the  Countess  Anne  could  not  by  any 
means  be  locked  out,  if  she  once  set  her  heart 
on  visiting,  me.  At  any  rate,  it  would  be  a 
most  ungallant  thing  to  do,  especially  when  one 
is  sleeping  in  her  bed." 
83 


King  or  Knave 

He  then  undressed  himself,  laid  his  drawn 
sword  ready  to  hand,  blew  out  the  candles,  and 
drew  the  covering  about  him.  For  a  while  he 
lay  enjoying  the  luxury  of  mere  repose,  watch- 
ing the  reflection  of  the  fire  flickering  over  the 
grotesque  figures  on  the  canopy  and  walls  and 
making  them  still  more  unhuman. 

There  was  utter  stillness  everywhere,  save  the 
hooting  of  an  owl  perched  on  the  roof  and  the 
soft  fluttering  of  the  tattered  curtain  in  the  night- 
wind  sighing  through  the  broken  pane.  Then, 
without  so  much  as  a  thought  of  the  Countess 
Anne,  he  sank  into  the  dreamless  sleep  which 
waits  on  good  digestion  and  an  easy  conscience. 

Navarre  was  awakened  by  a  slight  click.  It 
was  caused  by  the  raising  of  the  latch  of  his 
door,  which  then  swung  slowly  open.  He  was 
instantly  wide  awake  and  on  the  alert.  The 
fire  had  burned  down  to  a  few  embers.  The 
room  was  thus  in  darkness,  save  a  few  faint  rays 
of  moonlight  penetrating  the  begrimed  window- 
panes  and  stealing  feebly  through  rents  in  the 
tattered  curtains.  There  was  light  enough,  how- 
ever, to  show  dimly  a  towering  object  which 
entered  the  chamber  and  moved  slowly  across 
the  floor,  with  sepulchral  groans  and  the  rattle 
of  a  chain.  It  paused  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
room  and  seemed  to  turn  about. 

Meanwhile  Henry  of  Navarre  lay  coolly  watch- 
ing the  apparition.  His  first  reflection  was  that 
it  was  a  poor  kind  of  ghost  that  needed  an 
open  door  for  its  entrance.  Now,  as  it  fronted 
84 


King  or  Knave 

him,  he  gave  a  slight  cough.  The  phantom 
started  visibly  and  at  once  ceased  its  moans. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  "  he  challenged  sharply. 

There  was  no  reply ;  but  the  spectre  moved 
rapidly  towards  the  door.  Navarre,  however, 
was  too  quick.  With  an  agile  leap  from  the  bed, 
he  threw  himself  in  its  path. 

In  an  instant  a  chain  clanked  on  the  floor,  a 
broomstick  which  had  supported  a  sheet  high 
in  the  air  fell  with  a  clatter,  and,  at  the  same 
moment,  Navarre's  outstretched  arms  enfolded  a 
slender  feminine  form. 

"  Oh,  Monsieur !  Oh,  your  Highness !  Oh, 
for  God's  sake,  let  me  go  !  "  pleaded  a  girl's  voice, 
in  tones  of  terror,  while  the  slight  form  writhed 
and  struggled  in  his  grasp. 

The  elusive  creature  which  he  had  caught,  in 
its  frantic  efforts  to  escape,  dragged  him  through 
the  doorway  into  the  corridor.  Then  he  found 
himself  thrown  against  a  robuster  female  form, 
shaking  convulsively  with  laughter.  He  loosened 
his  hold  on  his  captive. 

The  moment  he  relaxed  his  grasp,  the  fleshy 
apparition  slipped  away  from  him  and  fled  down 
the  corridor,  quickly  followed  by  its  mate. 

"  Confound  the  creatures !  This  hunting  in 
couples  is  a  fiendish  thing,"  Navarre  exclaimed 
testily.  Then  he  resigned  himself  again  to 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  THE   SIXTH 

How  Gabrielle  d'Es  tries,  picking  wild  flowers  in  the 
wood,  gets  a  glimpse  of  the  Magic  Fleur-de-lis  and 
straightway  falls  under  its  glamour. 

THE  next  morning  Diana  entered  shame- 
facedly with  Navarre's  breakfast. 

"So,  Diana,"  he  cried,  "this  is  your  hospi- 
tality, is  it?  You  first  try  to  frighten  me  out  of 
my  wits  with  your  terrible  stories;  then  you 
and  Lisette  come  here  to  play  the  ghost  your- 
selves." 

"  Oh,  will  your  Highness  forgive  me  ? "  she 
returned,  looking  at  him  beseechingly.  "  We 
did  not  think  to  do  your  Highness  any  harm. 
It  happened  in  this  way,  may  it  please  you. 
Lisette  and  I,  we  could  not  so  much  as  sleep  a 
wink,  all  for  worrying  about  you.  Then  says  I, 
'  Let 's  take  a  candle  and  see  how  things  are.' 
So  we  stole  softly  into  the  corridor.  And  there 
wasn't  any  sound.  And  Lisette  says,  'I  don't 
believe  the  Countess  Anne  is  coming  to-night,' 
says  she.  'What  do  you  think,  Diana,  his 
Highness  would  do,  if  the  countess  should  walk 
into  his  room?' 

" '  Dame ! '  says  I,  '  it  would  be  the  death  of 
him,  I  'm  afraid.' 

86 


King  or  Knave 

" '  I  don't  believe  it,'  says  Lisette ;  '  he  is  so 
unconcerned,  I  fancy  he  would  n't  mind  it  any 
more  than  if  you  or  I  walked  into  the  room,  or 
not  half  so  much,'  and  then  she  laughed  in  a 
queer  way,  like  the  giddy  thing  she  is.' 

"  Presently  she  says,  '  Do  you  know,  Diana,  I 
have  a  mind  to  try  him? ' 

" '  What  do  you  mean  ? '  says  I. 

"  '  To  play  the  ghost  myself,'  says  she. 

"  '  Are  you  crazy? '  says  I.  '  Do  you  want  to 
kill  his  Highness  outright?' 

" '  Oh,  you  silly  goose  ! '  says  she.  '  Don't  I 
tell  you  there  would  not  be  any  harm  in  just 
walking  into  his  room  and  out  again  ?'  And 
she  said  I  must  come  with  her,  and  if  you  were 
frightened,  we  could  tell  you  at  once  who  it  was, 
and  not  let  you  do  yourself  any  hurt.  I  did  not 
like  it  much,  your  Highness,  because  I  do  not 
think  people  ought  to  make  a  jest  of  such 
solemn  things.  But  she  overpersuaded  me. 
And  your  Highness  knows  the  rest.  And  I 
hope  your  Highness  will  forgive  me,"  she  con- 
cluded, looking  at  him  imploringly  with  her  big, 
wistful  eyes. 

It  would  have  needed  a  harder  heart  than 
Henry  of  Navarre's  to  refuse  absolution  to  such 
a  penitent. 

After  a  while  he  said  to  her,  "  What  is  the 
chance  of  my  having  an  interview  with  your 
mistress  to-day  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  your  Highness,"  returned  Diana 
eagerly.  "  Lisette  and  I  have  talked  of  that, 
8? 


King  or  Knave 

and  we  have  a  plan.  She  will  prevail  on  our 
young  mistress  to  take  a  walk  in  the  forest. 
Then  you  will  have  a  chance  of  meeting  her. 
Does  your  Highness  like  the  scheme?  " 

"  Excellently,  ma  belle.  How  greatly  I  am 
favored  in  having  my  affairs  cared  for  by  two 
such  devoted  friends  as  you  and  Lisette ! " 

Diana  smiled  her  thanks  for  this  appreciation 
and  went  her  way. 

Later  Lisette  ran  hastily  into  the  room,  with 
her  coif  and  cape  on,  ready  to  go  out. 

"  Listen,  your  Highness,"  she  cried  eagerly, 
"  and  mind  well  what  I  tell  you." 

"  Ah,  ha !  Now  I  have  caught  you,  my 
queen  of  hobgoblins.  I  owe  you  a  score  for 
the  terrible  fright  you  gave  me  last  night.  And 
T  shall  take  full  satisfaction  —  " 

"  Oh,  let  me  alone,  your  Highness  !  "  beseech- 
ingly. "  Can't  you  be  reasonable  for  a  moment, 
and  listen  to  what  I  am  trying  to  tell  you  ?  Oh, 
keep  off,  I  say,  else  I  vow  I  won't  help  you  a 
particle  more !  There  now,  that 's  sensible. 
Now  listen.  My  young  mistress  is  going  out  for 
a  walk  in  the  park.  She  will  take  me  with  her, 
of  course.  I  shall  guide  her  to  a  certain  spot 
which  you  will  know  in  this  way  — 

"  There  now !  Stand  just  there.  No  nearer ! 
I  must  begin  all  over  again.  I  shall  guide  her 
to  a  spot  which  you  will  know  in  this  way.  You 
follow  the  path  that  leads  through  the  glade 
where  we  talked  last  evening.  You  remember  ? 
Where  it  turns  to  the  left  by  a  blasted  oak,  you 
88 


King  or  Knave 

keep  straight  on,  and  you  come  to  a  beautiful 
spot —  Well,  now  I  trust  you  have  punished 
me  enough  for  my  little  frolic  last  night !  — 
You  come  to  a  beautiful  spot  where  wild  flowers 
grow  in  a  wide  opening,  and  there  is  a  big  tree 
in  the  midst  of  it  You  hide  yourself  near  and 
you  come  out  at  the  proper  time." 

"  How  soon  do  you  start?" 

"  Very  quickly.  I  shall  contrive  some  pretext 
for  detaining  the  young  mistress  a  few  minutes. 
In  the  mean  time,  do  you  hurry  down  and  out 
by  the  window  by  which  you  came  in.  No- 
body will  see  you,  because  nobody  comes  on 
this  side  of  the  chateau.  Then  away  into  the 
forest !  " 

A  half-hour  later  Gabrielle  d'Estrees,  saunter- 
ing leisurely  through  the  forest-glades,  stooped 
to  pluck  a  wild  flower.  As  she  rose,  she  was 
startled  at  finding  the  King  of  Navarre  standing 
before  her.  She  drew  back  in  surprise  and  some 
anger.  Her  maid  gave  a  shriek. 

"  Pardon  me,  Mademoiselle,  this  unexpected 
visit,"  said  the  intruder,  uncovering  and  bowing 
low. 

"  Your  presence  is  indeed  unlocked  for,  Mon- 
sieur, at  this  time  and  at  this  place,"  returned 
Gabrielle,  with  hauteur.  "  May  I  ask  to  what 
circumstance  I  owe  the  honor  of  a  visit  from 
you,  Monsieur,  under  so  extraordinary  condi- 
tions? Have  you  forgotten  that  I  begged  you 
to  make  your  recent  visit  the  last?  " 

"  Pardon  me,  Mademoiselle.  I  have  something 
89 


King  or  Knave 

to  communicate  which  I  believe  you  will  agree 
with  me  warrants  this  apparent  intrusion,"  re- 
turned the  other,  again  bowing  profoundly. 
"  But  I  must  ask  the  honor  of  speaking  to  you 
alone." 

"Excuse  my  incredulity,  Monsieur,"  replied 
the  lady,  eying  him  with  disdainful  suspicion, 
"  I  know  of  no  subject  on  which  you  can  hold 
converse  with  me  to  which  my  maid  may  not 
properly  listen." 

"  On  the  honor  of  a  soldier,  Mademoiselle,  I 
have  that  to  communicate  to  you  which  no  ear 
but  yours  must  hear.  So  soon  as  I  have  men- 
tioned it,  you  will  see  the  wisdom  of  giving  me 
an  interview  alone." 

"Lisette,  see  yonder  tree,"  said  the  young 
chatelaine,  pointing  to  a  fallen  one  a  little  way 
off,  but  beyond  ear-shot,  "  go  and  sit  there." 

"  Ah,  Mademoiselle,  so  fair  and  so  cruel !  " 
remonstrated  Navarre. 

But  Gabrielle  turned  to  him  an  inexorable 
front  and  only  said,  "  Now,  Monsieur,  may  it 
please  you  to  proceed  with  your  communica- 
tion? I  listen.  But,  hold  !  Tell  me  first,  I  pray 
you,  how  you  discovered  me  here,  in  the  depth 
of  the  forest" 

"  I  was  approaching  the  chateau,  Mademoi- 
selle, to  present  myself  to  you  in  proper  form, 
when  I  had  the  incredible  good  fortune  to  descry 
you  leaving  it  and  entering  the  forest-path.  I 
ventured  to  follow  your  steps  and  to  take  this 
method  of  meeting  you.  Your  goodness  will 
90 


King  or  Knave 

pardon  the  liberty  I  have  of  necessity  taken, 
will  it  not,  Mademoiselle?" 

"You  venture  strangely,  Monsieur,  on  what 
you  are  pleased  to  call  my  goodness.  But  go 
on.  I  am  ready  to  hear  you." 

"Perhaps  I  should  rather  have  said  I  seek 
your  advice,  Mademoiselle." 

"Impossible,  Monsieur!  No  subject  is  con- 
ceivable on  which  my  humility  can  counsel 
your  illustrious  Excellency."  Then,  with  a  sar- 
castic inflection,  "  Surely  it  were  better  to  con- 
fer with  your  long-time  friend,  the  Countess  de 
Guiche,  who  is  a  lady  of  ripe  years,  I  am  told, 
and  wide  experience. 

"That  lady  and  I  are  no  longer  friends, 
Mademoiselle." 

"  Indeed,  Monsieur !  Since  how  long,  I  won- 
der. Some  new  star,  then,  has  risen  in  the 
heavens  ?  " 

"  Say  not  a  star,  Mademoiselle,  but  a  sun,  the 
same  that  sheds  its  beauty  on  this  favored  spot." 

"  Oh,  Monsieur !  Is  it  not  time  to  leave  off 
this  absurd  pretence?  Do  you  take  me  for  a 
child  that  is  to  be  caught  with  fine  words? 
Come,  let  us  speak  of  something  else.  What- 
ever it  be  you  have  to  say,  let  me  hear  it,  I  pray 
you,  without  further  delay." 

"  I  would  consult  you,  Mademoiselle,  as  to 
the  mourning  which  it  is  proper  for  me  to  wear 
for  a  near  relative  lately  deceased." 

"A  strange  request  to  make  of  me,  surely! 
Pray,  why  am  I  so  honored?" 


King  or  Knave 

"  Consider,  Mademoiselle,  since  you  will  not 
allow  me  to  plead  a  tenderer  motive,  that  there 
is  no  other  lady  of  my  acquaintance  near,  and 
this  is  a  case  for  a  woman's  fine  taste  and  judg- 
ment." 

"  But,  surely,  you  are  not  in  so  dire  extremity 
as  you  represent  yourself,  Monsieur.  The  King 
of  Navarre  never  lacks  female  friends.  Where 
is  Mademoiselle  de  Fosseuse?  " 

"  You  should  now  say  the  Baroness  de  Cinq- 
Mars,  Mademoiselle." 

"  Indeed  !  I  wonder  who  is  to  be  congratu- 
lated, you  or  the  baron.  But  go  on,  Monsieur. 
First,  who  is  this  relative  who  has  died  ?  " 

"My  cherished  brother-in-law,  Frangois 
d'Anjou." 

"What?    The  Duke  of  Anjou  dead!" 

"  Even  so,  Death  ever  loves  a  shining  mark." 

"  And  you  would  have  me  advise  you, 
Monsieur,  how  to  mourn  this  brother-in-law 
whom,  even  when  dead,  you  cannot  mention 
without  sarcasm.  Surely,  Monsieur,  when  the 
heart  hates,  the  body  may  be  dispensed  from 
wearing  a  mockery  of  grief." 

"  True,  Mademoiselle,  where  a  private  person 
only  is  concerned.  But  there  are  certain  pro- 
prieties to  be  observed  by  one  in  my  station. 
The  bereaved  kinsman  may  rejoice  inwardly,  but 
the  next  heir  of  the  throne  of  the  Valois  must 
wear  the  outward  semblance  of  mourning." 

"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  Gabrielle,  with  a  start. 
The  effect  of  the  communication  so  adroitly 
92 


King  or  Knave 

made  was  at  once  visible  in  a  change  of  her 
manner  and  a  greater  show  of  interest. 

Presently  she  said,  "  There  was  a  difference, 
I  have  been  told,  between  you  and  the  late 
duke." 

"  I  thoroughly  despised  him." 

"An  early  rivalry,  I  have  understood,  for  a 
lady's  favor.  Madame  de  Sauve,  was  it  not?' 

"True,  we  competed  for  her  smiles;  but  it 
was  not  for  that  I  despised  him.  I  can  tolerate 
an  open  and  honorable  rival.  Let  him  win  who 
can.  But  this  creature  betrayed  every  trust, 
public  or  private,  ever  confided  to  him.  There- 
fore I  loathed  him,  —  because  there  was  not  a 
spark  of  manhood  in  his  cowardly  nature." 

Gabrielle  resumed  presently,  with  a  kindlier 
manner,  "  It  seems  to  me,  Monsieur,  since  you 
seek  my  advice,  that  your  mourning  should  be 
simple  and  merely  formal." 

"Nay,  fair  Gabrielle,  I  shall  make  it  as  rich 
as  my  purse  will  allow,  rich  enough  to  grace  a 
king's  obsequies." 

"Why  this,  Monsieur?  He  never  reigned, 
nor  ever  came  nearer  to  a  crown  than  his  at- 
tempt to  marry  the  Queen  of  England." 

Navarre  laughed,  "  Another  of  the  ridiculous 
fiascoes  of  his  mountebank  career.  He  marry 
Elizabeth !  He,  the  drivelling  dolt,  mate  with 
the  strongest  and  shrewdest  sovereign  in  all 
Christendom,  twenty-five  years  older  than  he, 
and  accustomed  to  deal  with  men  of  brains  and 
force!  Yet  this  miserable  creature  kept  the 
93 


King  or  Knave 

English  people  in  a  state  of  constant  dread  lest 
their  Queen  should  marry  a  Catholic.  Little 
she  dreamed  of  it !  " 

"Why,  then,  Monsieur,  mourn  him  as  king?" 

"  Nay,  fair  Gabrielle,  you  misconceive  my 
meaning.  I  look  forward  to  a  king's  funeral 
at  no  distant  day." 

"What  king's,  Monsieur?" 

"The  only  king's  whose  obsequies  would 
interest  me,  his  whose  death  would  make  me 
King  of  France." 

Gabrielle  started.  Then  she  looked  at  him 
keenly.  "  You  speak  in  riddles,  Monsieur. 
His  Majesty  is  alive  and  well,  and  yet  you  talk 
of  his  funeral." 

"  Will  you  think  that  I  speak  wildly,"  said 
Navarre,  coming  closer  and  fixing  her  with  in- 
tent gaze,  "  if  I  say  that  the  King  of  France  as 
surely  nears  his  death  as  yonder  sun  goes  to  his 
setting?  Have  faith  in  my  destiny  and  believe 
that  it  is  your  future  King  who  lays  his  heart  at 
your  feet  and  sues  for  your  favor." 

Gabrielle  tossed  her  head  defiantly,  "  These  are 
big  words,  Monsieur,  but  they  carry  no  weight." 
Yet  it  was  evident  that  they  impressed  her. 

"  Listen  to  me,  and  you  will  be  convinced. 
What  if  I  tell  you  that  there  is  an  open  breach 
between  the  King  and  the  League,  and  that  he 
has  fled  from  Paris?" 

"What  do  you  say?     Then  there  is  war  be- 
tween the  King  and  the  Duke  of  Guise?"  asked 
Gabrielle,  pale  with  alarm. 
94 


King  or  Knave 

"  Precisely  so.  And  now,  if  you  will  consider 
the  ferocious  enmity  of  the  Leaguers,  the  un- 
bounded ambition  of  Guise,  the  fanaticism  of 
the  monks,  and  the  bigotry  of  the  populace,  do 
you  not  see  that  Henry  already  stands  within 
the  shadow  of  death?  Now,  since  he  has  come 
to  an  open  breach  with  Guise,  the  weaker  man 
will  fall.  And  which  is  the  weaker  you  well 
know." 

"  I  much  fear  that  what  you  say  is  true,  Mon- 
sieur," said  Gabrielle  gloomily,  without  the  least 
trace  of  her  former  hauteur.  Then  she  suddenly 
exclaimed,  "  Oh,  my  poor  brother !  What  will 
he  do?" 

"You  have  a  brother  in  the  royal  army?" 
asked  the  other  eagerly. 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  a  sub-officer  in  the  Picard 
regiment  of  the  French  Guard." 

"  Doubtless,  then,  he  is  with  the  King  at 
Chartres,"  said  Navarre. 

"  So  I  presume,  Monsieur.  Of  so  much  I  am 
sure,  that  he  would  never  lift  his  hand  against 
his  King.  Least  of  all  would  he  join  the  League. 
Gaston  is  a  good  Catholic,  but  he  loathes  the 
whole  monkish  tribe.  But  tell  me,  pray,  how 
this  fearful  state  of  things  came  to  pass." 

Navarre  related  the  story  of  Guise's  entry 
into  Paris,  and  of  the  Barricades,  with  all  that 
followed. 

Insensibly  Gabrielle's  indifference  melted  in 
the  absorbing  interest  of  the  theme.  He  was 
not  slow  to  perceive  his  advantage  and  to  push 
95 


King  or  Knave 

it.  Before  they  parted,  he  secured  a  promise 
that  she  would  meet  him  at  the  same  hour  and 
place  the  next  day. 

"  But,"  interposed  Gabrielle,  "  how  can  you 
come  so  far?  Your  quarters  are  quite  distant, 
are  they  not?" 

"True,  but  I  am  lodging  nearer,  at  Eaux- 
vertes." 

"  But  Eauxvertes  is  five  full  leagues  away. 
You  propose  to  return  there  and  to  come  here 
again  to-morrow?" 

"Ah,  adorable  Gabrielle,  in  the  thought  of 
you  who  would  take  note  of  distance?" 

The  young  lady  received  this  compliment 
with  a  graciousness  which  she  had  not  accorded 
to  his  earlier  speeches.  And  when  her  suitor, 
in  taking  his  leave,  lifted  her  beautiful  hand  to 
his  lips,  his  heart  bounded  with  joy  because  she 
made  no  resistance. 

The  next  day  they  met,  and  again  on  the 
next,  and  so  from  day  to  day  their  meetings 
were  continued. 

One  day  Henry  produced  a  lute.  Standing 
before  her,  his  eyes  fixed  on  hers,  glowing  with 
passionate  admiration,  he  sang  these  improvised 
words,  — 

"  Charmante  Gabrielle, 
Percd  de  mille  dards, 
Quand  la  gloire  m'appelle 
A  la  suite  de  Mars, 
Cruelle  de"  parti  e  ! 
Que  ne  suis-je  sans  vie 
Ou  sans  amour  ?  " 
96 


King  or  Knave 

She  was  thrilled  with  a  new  delight.  How 
fascinating  was  that  voice,  so  rich  and  so  res- 
onant with  feeling !  And  it  was  herself  who 
inspired  both  the  singer  and  the  song.  Gentle 
Marguerite  of  Angouleme,  grandmother  of  her 
suitor,  in  the  zenith  of  her  loveliness  had  had 
her  poets.  She  had  inspired  Marot's  verse. 
Gabrielle  knew  by  heart  the  lyric  of  Ronsard  in 
which  he  extolled  her  as  "  the  pearl "  (mar- 
guerite) "  of  the  princesses  of  our  age."  And 
now  she  had  her  own  poet,  a  royal  one,  pleading 
before  her  as  her  lover,  with  eyes  of  passionate 
longing ! 

Who  could  resist  the  witchery  of  such  a  suit, 
urged  by  such  a  man,  under  the  bright  sky  of 
June,  while  the  soft  air  breathed  love,  and  the 
murmuring  leaves  whispered  love? 

Some  deep  elements  of  Gabrielle's  nature 
were  stirred.  Its  poetry,  its  passion,  its  pride 
of  race,  all  responded  to  the  appeal.  She  moved 
in  an  atmosphere  of  enchantment.  What  a  sub- 
tle charm  there  was  in  these  stolen  meetings 
beneath  the  green-wood  tree ! 

Navarre,  too,  was  living  in  a  state  of  ecstatic 
delight.  He  afterwards  said  that,  had  he  been  a 
Catholic,  he  would  willingly  have  accepted  the 
imposition  of  a  thousand  years  of  Purgatory, 
on  the  condition  of  enjoying  those  few  days  of 
rapture. 


97 


CHAPTER  THE   SEVENTH 

How  the  Sieur  d^Estr^es  unwittingly  binds  faster  the 
spell  of  the  Fleur-de-lis,  and  how  Louis  de  Bellegarde, 
coming  to  the  chateau  of  Cceuvres  in  quest  of  his  heart, 
finds  its  keeper  enchanted  and  his  heart  shivering  in 
the  cold. 

A  FEW  days  after  Gabrielle's  last  meeting 
with  her  clandestine  suitor,  three  persons 
walked  under  the  old  trees  about  the  chateau 
of  Cceuvres,  in  the  delicious  air  of  a  fine  June 
morning.  One  was  the  fair  young  chatelaine. 
The  second  was  her  father. 

Antoine  d'Estr^es,  Baron  de  Coeuvres,  had 
not  long  passed  middle  life;  but  he  might 
easily  have  been  mistaken  for  an  older  man  by 
several  years.  His  light-brown  hair  was  plenti- 
fully sprinkled  with  silver.  Care  had  graven  its 
marks  deep  about  his  eyes,  which  were  keen 
and  of  a  steely  gray.  Bushy  and  grizzled  eye- 
brows, an  habitual  contraction  of  the  forehead, 
an  aquiline  nose,  and  sharp  features  whose  gen- 
eral effect  was  heightened  by  a  peaked  beard, 
gave  him  a  certain  falcon-like  aspect.  An 
observer  would  have  said  without  hesitation 
that  he  was  a  man  of  haughty  disposition  and 
irascible  temper. 

98 


King  or  Knave 

He  had  come  to  manhood  at  a  time  when  the 
religious  wars  were  in  their  early  and  bitter 
intensity.  A  stanch  royalist  and  a  fervent 
Catholic,  he  had  thrown  himself  wholly  into  the 
struggle.  When  the  resources  of  Catherine  de* 
Medici  were  at  their  lowest  ebb,  he  had  re- 
sponded to  a  direct  appeal  from  her  with  the 
proceeds  of  a  mortgage  on  the  most  valuable 
portion  of  his  estate.  Having  received,  at  the 
battle  of  Jarnac,  a  severe  wound  which  entailed 
a  life-long  lameness  and  incapacitated  him  for 
service  in  the  field,  he  applied  for  the  governor- 
ship of  a  walled  town,  confidently  believing  that 
his  sacrifices  for  the  crown  would  meet  with  this 
moderate  recognition.  But  his  loyalty  received 
a  cruel  blow,  when  he  saw  the  post  bestowed 
on  one  of  the  worst  of  the  court  favorites ;  and 
his  faith  in  the  honor  of  the  house  of  Valois  was 
rudely  shaken  when  its  debt  to  him  was  per- 
sistently ignored,  while,  year  after  year,  the 
crown  revenues  were  lavished  on  a  base  and 
debauched  crew. 

What  could  he  do?  Life  in  Paris  was  no 
longer  possible  to  him.  Too  poor  to  vie  with 
the  gorgeous  creatures  whose  existence  his 
liberality  had  helped  to  render  possible,  too 
proud  to  become  a  hanger-on  at  a  court 
where  men  of  tried  fidelity  must  fawn  on  a 
Quelus,  a  Maugiron,  or  a  Me'grim,  if  they  would 
keep  their  footing,  he  had  retired  to  the  poverty 
and  obscurity  of  his  chateau.  There  he  lived 
with  a  few  servants,  keeping  meagre  state  where 
99 


King  or  Knave 

his  ancestors  had  dwelt  as  influential  magnates, 
watching  the  relentless  advance  of  decay,  visible 
in  the  very  walls  of  his  dwelling. 

The  death  of  his  wife,  while  Gabrielle  was 
still  a  child,  had  left  him  more  than  ever  an 
embittered  man,  the  impulsiveness  of  youth 
turned  by  disappointment  into  a  querulous  dis- 
content. Hopeless  for  himself,  he  found  almost 
the  sole  interest  of  his  life  in  his  children, 
Gaston  and  Gabrielle.  To  them  he  looked  to 
repair  the  decayed  fortunes  of  his  house  and 
restore  the  crumbling  walls  of  Cceuvres. 

Ambition  for  them  had  become  his  absorbing 
passion.  By  dint  of  ceaseless  iteration  of  its 
maxims,  he  had  succeeded  in  making  it  his  chil- 
dren's religion.  From  their  earliest  years  they 
had  learned  to  accept  the  restoration  of  their 
family's  departed  glory  as  the  chief  end  of  their 
being.  Advancement  in  the  world,  by  methods 
suited  to  the  sex  of  each,  was  tacitly  regarded  as 
the  one  object  which  could  render  their  exis- 
tence justifiable.  The  mournful  spectacle  of 
their  father's  premature  decline  and  embittered 
life  seemed  to  lift  this  calculating  temper  to  the 
high  plane  of  filial  devotion. 

Withal,  his  bitter  experience  of  royal  ingrati- 
tude had  in  no  way  shaken  the  baron's  loyalty 
to  the  monarchy;  it  was  part  of  the  divine  con- 
stitution of  things.  To  doubt  the  kingly  idea 
would  have  been  to  doubt  God.  Therefore, 
when  young  Gaston  neared  manhood,  no  other 
career  was  thought  of  for  him  than  that  of  the 

100 


King  or  Knave 

army.  He  must  serve  the  King,  as  his  fathers 
had  done  for  generations. 

As  to  Gabrielle,  it  was  firmly  held  by  the 
baron  and  accepted  without  question  by  her, 
that  the  one  road  to  the  accomplishment  of  her 
destiny  was  a  brilliant  marriage.  Her  beauty 
and  grace  were  on  both  sides  viewed  less  as 
personal  gifts  than  as  a  possession  of  the  family. 

Of  late  the  baron,  seeing  his  daughter  bloom- 
ing into  a  womanhood  of  rare  attractiveness,  had 
experienced  not  a  little  chagrin  in  realizing  that 
her  isolated  life  afforded  no  opportunity  for  ful- 
filling her  destiny.  Of  what  avail  were  her 
charms,  if  they  were  to  be  hidden  away  from 
the  view  of  possible  suitors?  How  to  bring  her 
into  the  great  world  and  give  her  beauty  an 
adequate  field,  had  become  a  constantly  per- 
plexing problem. 

The  third  person  of  the  trio  walking  under 
the  trees  on  that  June  morning  was  in  every 
particular  the  very  opposite  of  the  Baron  de 
Cceuvres.  He  had  the  sure  charm  of  youth, 
health,  a  clear,  frank  eye,  an  honest  face,  and 
easy  grace  of  manner.  One  would  say  at  a 
glance  that  here  was  a  wholesome,  clean-hearted, 
generous  young  fellow,  brave  and  true.  His 
voice,  moreover,  had  that  ring  of  sincerity  which 
can  never  be  counterfeited,  the  unmistakable 
utterance  of  an  honest,  kindly  nature.  His  form 
was  manly  and  vigorous.  His  dress  pleased  the 
eye  by  its  well-ordered  simplicity  and  seemli- 
ness;  and  he  carried  himself  with  the  ease  of 
101 


King  or  Knave 

good  breeding  and  a  composure  based  on  abso- 
lute self-respect. 

Walking  by  the  side  of  Gabrielle  d'Estre"es, 
Louis  Lenormand  de  Bellegarde  might  have 
seemed  to  gods  and  men  a  most  fitting  mate  for 
the  beautiful  girl.  Two  such  fair  young  beings 
ancient  Greece  would  have  set  upon  a  pedestal 
and  worshipped  as  worthy  types  of  the  eternal 
life-forces. 

The  Baron  de  Cceuvres  was  neither  a  god 
nor  a  Greek,  but  an  impoverished  aristocrat, 
full  of  the  intellectual  vices  of  his  class,  his 
estimate  of  wealth  and  station  exaggerated  by 
the  loss  of  both.  Therefore  he  looked  upon 
the  young  man's  presence  with  some  uneasiness. 
If  he  came  as  the  playmate  of  his  children  in 
earlier  years,  and  his  son's  dearest  friend  in  the 
present,  he  was  warmly  welcome.  But  if  any 
thought  of  wooing  Gabrielle  was  in  his  mind,  it 
must  be  made  clear  to  him  by  the  most  decided 
attitude  that  such  a  suit  was  not  to  be  dreamed 
of.  For  his  condemnation  was  in  one  word,  pov- 
erty. The  circumstances  of  his  family  were  too 
similar  to  those  of  the  D'Estre"es  to  commend 
him  to  the  baron  as  a  suitor  for  his  daughter. 

The  emotions  which  Bellegarde  experienced 
at  this  interview  were  complex.  His  father  and 
Gabrielle's  had  been  comrades  in  arms  in  the 
earlier  religious  wars.  Later,  when  they  attended 
the  court  with  their  families,  they  were  near 
neighbors  in  Paris ;  and  a  community  of  opinions 
drew  the  two  households  into  very  close  rela- 
102 


King  or  Knave 

tions.  During  this  period  little  Louis  was  the 
constant  companion  of  Gaston  and  Gabrielle. 
About  the  same  time  both  families  retired  to 
their  several  estates ;  but  this  circumstance  did 
not  interrupt  the  intimacy  of  the  two  boys,  who 
were  wont  to  spend  many  months  with  each 
other  in  alternate  visits. 

Thus  Louis  and  Gabrielle  passed  through 
childhood  and  early  youth  in  the  most  intimate 
association.  Their  friendship  was  of  the  warm- 
est. Not  only  was  each  fond  of  the  other; 
Gabrielle  looked  up  to  and  admired  Louis. 
With  the  development  of  his  character,  he  ex- 
hibited more  and  more  those  manly  qualities 
which  command  women's  respect.  He  was 
brave,  true,  and  generous,  and  possessed  a 
maturity  and  stability  which  she  missed  in  her 
brother.  In  time  he  came  to  stand  for  all  that 
she  esteemed  highest  and  worthiest. 

Louis's  feeling  for  Gabrielle  was  compounded 
of  brotherly  affection  and  loverlike  devotion. 
His  only  sister  had  died  early,  and  his  beautiful 
playmate  inherited  the  protecting  care  which  a 
healthy-minded  boy  naturally  bestows  on  a  sister. 
As  they  grew  older,  this  tender  childish  relation 
ripened  into  something  warmer.  Each  was  in- 
tensely happy  in  the  other  and  in  sharing  every 
experience  which  they  could  possibly  have  in 
common.  The  one  was  at  her  best  when  the 
other  was  at  her  side;  and  to  him  existence 
seemed  incomplete  except  when  he  shared  it 
with  her.  Without  a  word  spoken  of  love,  each 
103 


King  or  Knave 

acted  with  constant  reference  to  this  relation. 
It  was  the  ideal  element  of  their  lives. 

Unhappily  —  or  happily  —  this  idyl  was 
broken  in  upon  by  the  rude  exigencies  of  life. 
Louis  must  make  himself  a  career,  and  his 
father  was  fortunate  in  securing  him  a  position 
as  a  subaltern  officer  in  the  force  which  the 
Duke  of  Anjou  led  into  the  Low  Countries. 
During  this  absence  of  two  years  from  France 
Gabrielle  was  always  present  to  Louis.  He 
never  dreamed  of  any  other  woman.  Had  there 
been  a  formal  betrothal  between  them,  he  could 
not  have  been  more  absolutely  loyal  in  deed 
and  thought,  simply  because  it  was  his  nature 
to  be  constant.  She  continued  to  be  an  in- 
separable feature  of  every  hope  and  picture 
of  the  future,  not  less  than  when  he  saw  her 
frequently. 

After  the  ignominious  failure  of  the  expedi- 
tion and  the  return  of  the  force  to  France, 
Louis,  with  two  years'  experience  to  his  credit, 
readily  obtained  an  appointment  in  a  regiment 
of  the  King's  guard. 

Here  he  was  overjoyed  to  find  himself  a  com- 
panion in  arms  of  Gaston.  In  the  freedom  of 
their  intercourse  Louis  guided  the  conversation 
frequently  to  the  theme  which  lay  so  near  to  his 
heart,  and  he  soon  knew  that  his  friend  would 
support  him  in  his  suit  for  Gabrielle's  hand. 
This  conviction  had  been  recently  confirmed 
when,  on  his  shyly  intimating  that  he  would 
like  to  visit  Cceuvres,  Gaston  enthusiastically 
104 


King  or  Knave 

approved  of  the  proposition  and  warmly  invited 
him  to  make  a  stay  of  some  days. 

Now  he  was  come,  his  first  emotion  was  one 
of  bewilderment.  More  than  three  years  had 
passed  since  their  last  meeting.  He  had  left 
Gabrielle  little  more  than  a  child.  He  found  her 
a  woman  of  dazzling  beauty.  At  the  same  time 
he  felt  instinctively  that  their  relation  was  no 
longer  the  same.  Something,  he  knew  not  what, 
had  come  between  them.  He  seemed  to  read 
in  her  eyes  that,  in  the  advance  from  childhood 
to  womanhood,  new  elements,  too  subtle  for  his 
penetration,  had  entered  into  her  character.  The 
artless  girl  was  no  longer  there. 

The  pang  which  he  experienced  in  realizing 
that  she  had,  as  it  were,  eluded  him,  was  unmis- 
takable proof  to  himself  how  deeply  he  loved 
her.  Besides,  he  felt  abashed.  What  would 
this  beautiful  girl,  who  might  have  the  world  at 
her  feet,  care  for  him  ? 

On  her  side  Gabrielle  was  not  free  from  agita- 
tion. She,  too,  had  had  her  day-dreams,  and  in 
these  Louis  had  figured  more  or  less  constantly. 
Now,  when  she  stood  face  to  face  with  him,  a 
conflict  of  emotions  agitated  her.  Certain  recent 
experiences  rushed  into  her  mind.  The  sight  of 
him  arrayed  her  earlier  self  as  an  accuser  of  her 
present  self;  and  she  felt  something  like  a  con- 
sciousness of  guilt.  It  was  no  wonder  that,  thus 
agitated,  she  seemed  to  Louis  cold  and  con- 
strained. When  he  made  bold  to  try  to  catch 
her  eye,  it  avoided  his.  Once  when  she  stooped 
105 


King  or  Knave 

to  gather  some  wild  flowers,  he  bent  over  quickly 
to  assist  her,  and  whether  by  chance  or  purpose, 
touched  her  hand.  It  was  instantly  drawn  away. 
Glancing  quickly  at  her,  he  saw  that  the  color  had 
left  her  cheek.  From  what  he  was  himself  expe- 
riencing, he  divined  some  conflict  of  emotions. 

But  there  was  no  opportunity,  even  had  she 
been  otherwise  minded,  to  establish  a  corre- 
spondence of  looks  and  signs.  For,  courteous 
as  the  baron  showed  himself  to  his  son's  friend, 
he  did  not  cease  to  keep  a  watchful  eye  on 
him.  He  divined  a  reason  for  the  young  man's 
visit;  and  it  may  be  that  he  observed  in  one 
or  both  some  indications  of  emotion  which 
were  not  to  his  liking.  At  all  events,  he  was 
resolute  in  his  determination  not  to  allow  the 
least  room  for  the  indulgence  of  sentiment.  If 
Bellegarde's  coming  had  a  purpose,  he  would 
make  it  plain  to  him  by  his  attitude  that  there 
was  not  the  faintest  encouragement  for  him  to 
proceed  farther  in  that  direction.  He  kept  him 
steadily  engaged  in  conversation  on  matters  of 
public  interest,  as  if  Gabrielle  were  not  present; 
and  his  visitor  could  not  fail  to  take  the  hint 
which  his  manner  plainly  conveyed. 

Bellegarde  had  just  now  come  from  the  royal 
headquarters  at  Chartres,  and  the  talk  naturally 
turned  upon  the  incidents  preceding  the  King's 
departure  from  Paris.  The  baron  listened  with 
deep  interest  and  rising  anger  to  the  young  offi- 
cer's story  of  the  Barricades. 

"The  wretched  canaille!"  he  hissed,  as  he 
106 


King  or  Knave 

heard  how  the  mob  had  shut  in  the  royal  troops, 
and  virtually  imprisoned  the  King  in  the  Louvre. 
He  groaned  at  his  own  impotence  to  do  any- 
thing for  his  King.  But,  thank  God !  he  was 
represented  at  his  sovereign's  side  by  his  son, 
who  would  not  fail  to  uphold  the  family's  name 
for  loyalty. 

To  all  this  talk  Gabrielle  listened  intently. 

"  How  does  this  situation  affect  the  King  of 
Navarre?  "  she  asked,  with  an  air  of  mild  interest, 
when  a  pause  came. 

Her  father  turned  to  her  with  a  look  of  sur- 
prise. 

"  Oh,  it  makes  his  position  immensely 
stronger,"  replied  Bellegarde.  "  War  between 
the  Leaguers  and  the  loyal  Catholics  is  the  very 
situation  which  he  would  have  desired.  See 
whether  the  nimble  Bearnais  does  not  soon  turn 
it  to  his  advantage  !  " 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  the  baron,  "not  the  least 
evil  of  this  traitorous  association  of  fanatics  led 
by  demagogues  is,  that  it  renders  the  King 
powerless  to  crush  heresy." 

"  There  are  those,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said 
Bellegarde,  "who  have  already  counselled  his 
Majesty  to  make  an  alliance  with  the  Be'arnais, 
giving  the  Huguenots  reasonable  concessions, 
since  one  enemy  is  more  easily  dealt  with  than 
two,  and  armed  rebellion  is  a  worse  crime  than 
heresy." 

Gabrielle's  eyes  lighted  with  eager  interest, 
but  she  said  nothing. 

107 


King  or  Knave 

So  the  talk  drifted  on,  turning  always  upon 
topics  of  public  interest. 

Their  walk  ended,  Bellegarde  spoke  of  going 
away.  But  the  baron  would  not  listen  to  his 
immediate  departure. 

"  What !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  go  away,  after  your 
long  journey,  without  sitting  at  our  table  !  Im- 
possible !  " 

So  his  visitor  remained  to  share  the  dinner  at 
the  chateau.  But  the  host's  guarded  hospitality 
gave  no  hint  of  a  longer  stay,  such  as  Gaston 
had  urged. 

When  Louis  was  near  taking  his  leave,  at  a 
moment  when  her  father's  attention  was  occu- 
pied elsewhere,  as  if  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse, 
Gabrielle  lifted  her  hand  for  him  to  kiss  it.  How 
cold  her  fingers  were  !  And  how  they  trembled  ! 

That  was  the  only  crumb  of  comfort  which  he 
took  away  with  him;  but  it  was  worth  much. 
He  rode  away  fully  believing  that,  if  the  baron 
could  be  won  over,  the  only  obstacle  in  his  way 
would  be  removed. 


108 


CHAPTER   THE   EIGHTH 

How  Henry  of  Guise  makes  love  while  Henry  of  France 
makes  prayers,  and  how  each  fares  to  his  heart  'j 
desire. 

WINTER,  chill  and  drear,  lay  upon  the  old 
castle  at  Blois.  Christmas  was  at  hand.  But 
there  was,  God  knows,  little  enough  of  Christ- 
mas cheer  in  that  gloomy  pile.  Sombre 
without,  within  it  was  dark  with  plots  and 
counterplots,  and  its  air  was  thick  with  portents 
of  evil.  The  approaching  Noel  brought  to  its 
inmates  no  benediction  from  the  Prince  of 
Peace.  War  was  there,  not  the  less  deadly 
because  he  hid  his  grim  visage  under  a  decent 
mask. 

Henry  had  made  peace  with  the  League,  by 
accepting  its  terms,  in  the  hope  of  placing  him- 
self at  its  head.  But  Guise  and  the  other  chiefs 
had  views  of  their  own.  They  received  Henry 
into  the  League,  not  as  its  master,  but  its  tool. 

The  Estates  of  the  realm  were  sitting,  and  that 
assemblage  daily  saw  the  subject  triumph  over 
the  sovereign.  The  King  of  Paris,  Guise,  openly 
lorded  it  over  the  King  of  France  and  insulted 
him  ostentatiously.  In  an  address  to  the  Es- 
tates Henry  had  referred  to  recent  movements 
109 


King  or  Knave 

incited  by  factious  nobles.  Guise  demanded 
that  the  obnoxious  phrase  be  expunged  from 
the  record,  and  the  monarch  must  needs  yield. 

Plainly  this  state  of  things  could  not  last. 
Insolence  had  reached  its  limit.  Chosen  leader 
of  the  League,  idol  of  the  populace,  by  his 
reluctant  master's  appointment  Captain-general 
of  the  kingdom,  the  upstart  duke  towered  above 
all  subjects,  while  the  last  of  the  Valois,  pitifully 
shrunken,  looked  up,  in  evident  awe  and  secret 
hate,  to  the  overshadowing  colossus,  in  public 
deferring  to  him,  in  his  oratory  imprecating  him 
and  gnashing  his  teeth  in  helpless  rage  in  the 
intervals  of  passionate  prayer. 

Crillon,  the  intrepid,  summoned  to  his  mas- 
ter's closet,  listened  to  a  whispered  question 
and  blurted  out  his  blunt  answer,  "  Sire,  if  you 
wish  me  to  send  a  cartel  to  the  Duke  of  Guise 
and  meet  him  in  open  combat,  my  sword  is 
yours  to  command.  But  as  to  aught  else,  I  am 
no  assassin." 

Not  all,  however,  were  so  scrupulous.  There 
were  mysterious  conferences.  At  unusual  hours 
royal  minions  slunk  back  and  forth  with  omi- 
nous activity.  The  air  grew  thick  with  whispers 
of  some  dire  event  impending. 

Amid  all  this  sinister  agitation  the  one  per- 
son unconcerned  was  the  one  most  interested. 
Guise  loftily  ignored  the  perils  of  the  situation. 
Well-meant  warnings  he  made  light  of.  Sitting 
down  to  dinner,  he  found  folded  in  his  napkin  a 
note  from  some  well-wisher.  He  read  it,  laughed 
no 


King  or  Knave 

contemptuously,  and  tore  the  paper  in  pieces, 
saying  aloud,  with  a  curl  of  his  lip,  "  He  dares 
not." 

Again,  while  he  was  at  table,  a  note  was 
slipped  into  his  hand.  He  took  it  with  indiffer- 
ence. Probably  it  was  another  variation  of  the 
same  tune.  He  opened  it  languidly. 

Ha !  he  is  interested  now  !  See  his  eye  light 
up  !  Note  the  color  flushing  his  cheek ! 

The  first  sight  of  the  handwriting  riveted  his 
attention.  He  needed  not  the  initials  at  the 
bottom  to  tell  him  who  was  the  writer.  He 
crammed  the  billet  into  his  pocket  and  re- 
entered  the  conversation,  but  with  a  glitter  of 
excitement  in  his  eye  that  bespoke  a  mind 
occupied  with  some  topic  vastly  more  interest- 
ing than  the  talk  around  him. 

Night,  sombre  and  silent,  wrapped  the  old 
castle  in  its  slumbrous  folds.  For  the  greater 
part,  it  was  in  profound  darkness.  Only  in  the 
wing  occupied  by  the  King  a  faint  light  glim- 
mered where  perhaps  the  pious  monarch  kept 
his  prayerful  vigil. 

From  a  chamber-door  a  tall  figure  emerged, 
candle  in  hand,  and  passed  with  noiseless  tread 
through  long,  silent  corridors,  up  one  flight  and 
down  another,  till  he  reached  a  door  from  whose 
latch  hung  a  bit  of  ribbon,  scarcely  noticeable 
except  to  a  seeking  eye.  Without  ceremony  he 
entered. 

Evidently  a  guest  was  looked  for.  In  a  silver 
in 


King  or  Knave 

lamp  a  light  burned,  surrounded  by  a  globe  of 
colored  glass.  On  a  table  at  the  side  cold 
viands  were  arranged,  with  fruits  and  confections 
and  wine.  A  faint  perfume  pervaded  the  apart- 
ment. Altogether,  the  atmosphere  was  inde- 
finably sensuous. 

The  visitor  threw  off  the  cloak  which  had  dis- 
guised him  against  any  chance  encounter.  The 
haughty  features  of  Le  Balafre,  handsome  in 
spite  of  the  scar  which  gave  him  his  popular 
title,  were  revealed. 

In  a  moment  a  woman  entered  through  the 
opposite  door  and  advanced  with  a  little  joyful 
cry  of  "  Henry,  my  darling !  " 

"  Charlotte,  my  little  one !  " 

Then  the  two  were  locked  in  each  other's 
arms. 

Charlotte  de  Semblangay  belonged  to  a  type 
of  womanhood  of  which  the  world  has  known 
some  notable  examples.  Let  Cleopatra  stand 
for  the  whole  class,  women  themselves  con- 
sumed with  passion,  and  whose  baleful  fasci- 
nation for  the  opposite  sex  is  not  balanced  by 
any  principles  of  prudence,  of  morality,  or  of 
religion. 

She  was  such  a  woman  as  those  for  whom 
men  are  every  day  throwing  themselves  away, 
counting  the  world  well  lost,  if  they  can  but  die 
in  the  full  flood  of  their  feeling,  and  not  be  left 
stranded  on  some  tideless  shore  of  neglect  and 
oblivion.  If  anything  had  been  wanting  in  her 
natural  disposition  to  adapt  her  completely  to 
112 


King  or  Knave 

this  career,  her  training  in  the  school  of  Cath- 
erine de'  Medici  would  have  amply  supplied  the 
deficiency. 

Having  begun  life  as  a  maid  of  honor  to  that 
lady,  she  soon  acquired  the  freedom  for  a  career 
of  gallantry  which  a  husband's  name  bestowed, 
and,  as  Madame  de  Sauve,  she  became  the 
candle  around  which  the  giddy  young  moths  of 
the  court  incessantly  fluttered.  Among  these 
none  were  more  conspicuous  than  Henry  of 
Navarre,  during  his  enforced  sojourn  at  the 
Louvre,  and  his  brother-in-law,  Alengon.  These 
two  quarrelled  and  almost  fought  for  her  favor. 
Guise,  too,  early  became  one  of  her  devoted 
followers.  Death  having  by  this  time  removed 
Monsieur  de  Sauve,  she  had  the  opportunity  of 
making  another  man  happy,  and  she  bestowed 
this  distinction  on  the  Marquis  de  Noirmoutier. 

Though  years  had  rolled  by  since  her  youth- 
ful conquests,  and  the  boys  who  had  flung 
themselves  at  her  feet  were  growing  into  middle- 
aged  men,  she  retained  much  of  that  fateful 
charm  which  in  her  first  days  had  drawn  princes 
in  her  train.  Age,  it  seemed,  could  not  wither 
her,  nor  custom  stale  her  infinite  variety.  Still 
in  her  dark  eyes  burned  the  fires  of  unquench- 
able passion,  and  in  either  cheek  excitement 
had  lighted  a  bright  spot  which  glowed  the 
more  in  contrast  with  her  prevailing  pallor. 

Their  greetings  and  their  first  mutual  endear- 
ments over,  the  lovers  sank  beside  each  other 
on  a  divan  piled  with  cushions. 
8  113 


King  or  Knave 

"  Who  would  have  dreamed  that  you  were 
near,  my  sweet?"  murmured  Guise  tenderly. 
"  When  I  read  your  note,  for  very  joy  I  could 
scarcely  believe  my  eyes." 

"  Ah !  How  was  it  possible  for  me  to  remain 
longer  away,  Henry,  while  you  are  in  peril  ?  " 

"Tut!  tut!  little  woman,  what  nonsense  is 
this?  Evidently  somebody  has  been  playing 
on  your  credulity.  But  I  thank  him,  neverthe- 
less, for  the  happiness  he  has  provided  me." 

"Ah!  but,  Henry,  my  wilful  boy,"  she  re- 
sumed, hanging  on  him  and  looking  with  tender 
pleading  into  his  eyes,  "  why  will  you  run  these 
fearful  risks?  Oh,  believe  me,  you  are  in  dan- 
ger !  The  letter  which  came  to  me  said,  '  One 
in  whom  you  are  deeply  interested  is  rushing 
to  his  doom.  He  is  driving  a  weak  man  to 
desperation.  Even  a  worm  will  turn,  when  it 
is  trodden  upon.  There  are  rumors  already  of 
some  plot  against  him  of  whom  I  write.  His 
life  is  in  hourly  peril;  but  he  makes  light  of 
every  warning.  You  can  influence  him,  if  any 
one  can.  Hasten,  if  you  would  save  him.'  " 

"Who  wrote  it,  my  Charlotte?" 

"  Ah !  that  I  do  not  know,  my  Henry.  It 
was  not  signed.  But  it  was  as  plain  that  it 
came  from  a  true  well-wisher,  as  that  it  referred 
to  you." 

"  And  you  would  terrify  me  with  the  maun- 

derings    of   some    anonymous    scribbler    who 

thought  it  a  good  joke  to  show  how  he  could 

make  you  come  running  here  !     God  bless  him 

114 


King  or  Knave 

for  it !  And  all  this  pother  about  that  despica- 
ble creature  who  has  not  the  spirit  to  kill  a 
mouse !  When  I  bearded  him  in  the  Louvre, 
just  before  the  Barricades,  that  was  the  time  for 
him  to  strike,  if  he  ever  had  the  manhood  to  do 
it.  And,  my  faith !  for  a  little  while  it  certainly 
looked  squally.  There  were  Crillon  and  the 
rest  of  the  court  gang  scowling  at  me.  But  I 
put  on  a  bold  face  and  blustered  it  out.  Bah ! 
my  little  one,  what  is  there  to  fear  from  such  a 
monklet  as  this,  whose  chief  happiness  is  in  the 
company  of  shavelings  and  poodles?  By  the 
way,  let  me  tell  you  a  good  joke.  My  sister, 
of  Montpensier,  carries  a  pair  of  scissors  with 
which  she  vows  that  she  will  some  day  give  him 
the  sacred  tonsure  and  make  a  genuine  monk 
of  him.  Why  so  bitter  against  him,  do  you 
ask?  Let  me  whisper  it  to  you,  little  one.  Be- 
cause he  would  not  have  her.  Ha !  ha !  That 
is  the  way  that  history  is  made.  So,  parbleu  ! 
she  becomes  a  red-hot  Leaguer  and  overflows 
with  zeal  for  the  Church.  That  is  the  sort  of 
folk  that  we  have  to  do  with.  Bah !  I  am  sick 
of  all  this  sham.  Let  us  talk  of  something  real. 
Let  us  turn  to  love.  Of  that  alone  one  never 
tires." 

As  often  as  she  essayed  to  resume  the  subject 
of  her  fears,  he  smothered  her  pleadings  with 
new  endearments,  insistent  on  drowning  every 
care  in  a  whirlpool  of  passion. 

At  the  same  hour,  in  Paris,  within  a  sumptu- 
ous chamber  of  the  Guise  palace,  a  distinguished 
"5 


King  or  Knave 

lady  was  putting  the  last  stitches  of  embroidery 
upon  a  little  garment  which,  when  it  was  fin- 
ished, she  added  to  a  store  of  others,  all  unused, 
which  for  months  had  been  growing  under  her 
hand.  Then,  having  commended  her  absent 
lord  to  the  care  of  an  all-seeing  Providence, 
she  retired  to  rest. 

And  at  the  same  hour,  in  Blois,  within  the 
same  old  castle,  a  man  lay  tossing  on  his  couch, 
thinking  always  of  the  same  person,  some- 
times awake  and  strangely  mingling  prayers 
and  curses,  then  falling  into  fitful  sleep,  haunted 
by  sights  and  sounds  of  terror,  from  which  he 
would  start  affrighted,  only  to  renew  the  same 
dismal  experience. 


Morning  was  nearing  its  dreary  dawn,  cold 
and  dark.  There  was  unusual  movement  about 
the  castle.  His  pious  Majesty  had  summoned 
his  council  for  an  early  meeting,  intending,  he 
said,  to  go  into  retreat  with  the  good  brothers 
of  Notre  Dame  de  C16ry,  to  spend  an  edifying 
Christmas-tide.  The  councillors  were  all  assem- 
bled, except  his  grace  of  Guise.  A  messenger 
was  sent  to  invite  him  to  come  quickly. 

At  length  the  tall  form  of  Le  Balafre'  came 
striding  through  the  gloom  of  the  dim  morning. 
Passing  the  door  of  a  little  chapel,  he  heard 
voices  chanting  orisons  within.  These  were 
monks  whom  Henry  had  bidden  hold  a  special 
service  at  that  hour,  to  ask  God's  blessing  on 
"  an  undertaking  that  would  redound  greatly  to 
116 


King  or  Knave 

His  glory."  A  most  admirable  device  surely 
for  getting  God  on  his  side,  while  keeping  Him 
in  the  dark  as  to  what  He  was  asked  to  do ! 

Mounting  the  stairs  leading  to  the  King's 
apartments,  Guise  found  them  thronged  by  the 
famous  Forty-five,  the  royal  body-guard,  as- 
sembled ostensibly  to  hand  him  a  petition  for 
their  pay,  long  in  arrears.  No  friends  of  his 
there,  for  he  had  recommended  that  they  be 
disbanded,  not  relishing  a  corps  of  janizaries 
independent  of  his  control.  Now  they  so 
crowded  the  stairway,  that  his  attendants,  "un- 
able to  pass,  must  perforce  remain  below. 

In  the  antechamber  were  several  gentleman 
waiting.  They  showed  him  scant  courtesy.  Af- 
terwards they  remarked  that  he  looked  pale  and 
haggard.  Apparently  he  felt  faint,  for  he  asked 
for  some  confections.  Some  candied  plums 
were  brought  to  him  in  a  little  box.  He  took 
some  and  threw  the  rest  on  the  table,  saying, 
"  Help  yourselves,  gentlemen." 

The  eye  next  to  the  scar  watered.  He  called 
for  a  handkerchief.  One  was  fetched  him. 

In  a  few  minutes  came  a  secretary  from  the 
King,  to  conduct  him  into  an  inner  cabinet,  and 
he  disappeared.  A  moment  more  and  there 
was  a  confused  uproar.  The  gentlemen  with- 
out rushed  in,  to  find  the  great  Duke  dying  of 
a  dozen  wounds  and  surrounded  by  men  wiping 
their  bloody  swords. 

A  curtain  was  stealthily  drawn  aside,  a  timid 
voice  asked,  "  Are  you  quite  sure  that  he  is 
117 


King  or  Knave 

dead?"  and  his  Most  Christian  Majesty  stepped 
cautiously  into  the  room,  fresh  from  his  devo- 
tions. He  stole  near  to  his  fallen  foe,  pushed 
him  with  his  foot,  and  said,  "  How  big  he  was ! 
Now  he  looks  even  larger  than  when  living." 

A  moment  later  this  King  burst  into  his 
mother's  apartment,  where  she  lay  ill,  with  the 
exultant  cry,  "  Congratulate  me,  Madame.  I 
am  King  of  France  now.  The  King  of  Paris 
is  dead." 

The  grim  old  murderess  did  not  tarry  long. 
In  a  few  days  she  followed  her  fellow-conspira- 
tor into  the  dark  unknown. 

Henry,  once  roused,  was  not  minded  to  do 
things  half-way.  Guise's  brother,  the  Cardinal  of 
Lorraine,  was  doomed.  He  raged  in  his  prison 
and  defied  the  King  to  do  him  any  harm.  In- 
deed there  was  trouble  in  finding  men  for  the 
job.  To  murder  there  were  few  to  object  But 
to  lay  violent  hands  on  the  Lord's  anointed  was 
another  matter.  Still  what  cannot  gold  do? 
Ruffians  were  found  for  the  deed,  willing  to 
take  the  peril  of  their  souls'  perdition ;  and  the 
haughty  churchman,  furious  to  the  last,  was 
done  to  death. 

Henry  sent  to  the  Pope  a  circumstantial 
account  of  the  reasons  impelling  him  to  the 
"  execution "  of  Guise,  adding  a  naive  post- 
script, that  he  had  found  himself  under  the 
necessity  of  "  doing  justice  "  upon  the  Cardinal 
of  Lorraine  also  for  speaking  disrespectfully 
of  himself. 

118 


PART   II 


CHAPTER  THE  NINTH 

How  Gaston  d'Estre'es,  coming  to  his  sister  as  love's  ad- 
vocate, does  a  fool's  errand  and  helps  to  bind  faster 
the  magic  spell. 

A  YEAR  had  passed  since  the  opening  of  this 
story,  and  again  a  trio  were  walking  under  the 
leafy  trees  of  Cceuvres  and  enjoying  the  balmy 
air  of  a  June  day.  Two  were  the  baron  and  his 
daughter.  The  third  was  a  young  man  whose 
features  combined  something  of  the  haughty 
expression  of  the  former  with  the  delicate  color- 
ing, blue  eyes,  and  golden  hair  of  Gabrielle. 
His  appearance  suggested  an  impulsive,  ardent 
nature,  not  easily  brooking  restraint,  nor  wont 
to  exercise  it  upon  himself. 

He  had  just  now  come  from  the  camp  of  the 
two  kings  and  was  full  of  enthusiastic  hope  for 
the  royalist  cause.  He  was  at  this  moment 
dilating  on  the  circumstances  which  had  led  to 
the  union  of  the  two  monarchs  and  the  great 
relief  which  it  had  brought  to  the  King  of 
France. 

"  Parbleu !    his  Majesty  had  no  choice,"  he 
said.     "  You  have  heard,  my  father,  how  Paris 
119 


King  or  Knave 

raged  against  him,  after  the  death  of  Guise,  and 
how  everywhere  the  League  was  growing.  With 
a  powerful  army  in  the  field  against  him,  with 
many  cities  siding  with  the  rebels,  with  the  King 
of  Spain  pouring  money  into  the  treasury  of  the 
League,  what  could  he  do  ?  He  must  have  help 
somewhere,  and  the  only  person  who  could  give 
it  was  the  King  of  Navarre.  What  think  you, 
my  father?  Was  he  not  right  in  joining  forces 
with  the  Bearnais?" 

"  Surely  he  was,  my  son,"  returned  the  baron. 
"  For  what  crime  can  be  compared  with  rebel- 
lion ?  Let  priests  say  what  they  may,  a  monarch 
may  rightfully  use  any  means  whatever  to  put 
down  treason.  If  there  is  sin  in  union  with 
heretics,  the  guilt  lies  at  the  door  of  those  who 
drove  the  King  to  such  extremity.  But  tell  me, 
pray,  how  the  alliance  was  effected.  Did  the 
Bearnais  not  show  any  distrust  of  his  brother-in- 
law?  After  the  long  strife  between  them,  the 
bravest  man  might  hesitate  to  put  himself  into 
the  King's  power." 

"  Just  so,  my  father.  When  it  was  rumored 
that  there  were  secret  negotiations  with  the  King 
of  Navarre,  many  said  that  he  surely  never  would 
venture  near  his  Majesty.  Some  thought  that 
he  would  refuse  to  treat  with  him  on  any  terms 
whatever,  or  that,  at  the  least,  he  would  insist 
on  meeting  him  at  some  point  between  the  two 
armies,  each  party  with  an  equal  guard.  Noth- 
ing of  the  kind !  Almost  before  we  dreamed 
of  it,  he  was  among  us,  with  but  a  handful  of 
120 


King  or  Knave 

gentlemen.  I  tell  you,  that  Bearnais  is  a  born 
hero !  He  is  a  man  to  follow.  Where  others 
feel  their  way  and  dally  on  the  brink  of  danger, 
he  plunges  in  and  with  his  strong  arm  buffets 
his  way  to  victory.  Since  he  has  become  our 
ally,  I  would  to  God  that  I  might  lead  a  regi- 
ment under  his  banner !  " 

The  young  man's  color  rose  with  his  enthusi- 
astic speech.  The  elder  nodded  approvingly, 
and  his  kindling  eye  showed  his  sympathy  with 
his  son's  ardor.  So  absorbed  were  they  that 
neither  noticed  Gabrielle's  excitement  At  her 
brother's  praise  of  his  hero,  her  cheek  flushed, 
her  eye  brightened,  and  her  step  was  proud  and 
firm.  In  another  moment  a  pallor  overspread 
her  face,  and  she  caught  her  under-lip,  as  if  in 
pain. 

Presently  the  father  said,  constraining  himself 
to  inculcate  a  virtue  equally  foreign  to  his  nature 
and  to  his  son's,  "  Only  be  patient,  my  boy,  and 
in  time  you  will  have  a  regiment  in  the  King's 
service." 

"  In  time,  forsooth !  Yes,  perchance,  if  I 
serve  a  hundred  years,"  cried  the  young  man 
bitterly,  dashing  to  the  ground  with  vehemence 
a  flower  he  had  plucked.  "  What  chance  have 
I,  who  am  poor  because  my  father  lavished  his 
wealth  for  his  King,  with  the  scented  fops  and 
panders  and  leeches  who  are  his  Majesty's  con- 
fidants ?  No !  I  must  be  content  to  lead  a 
handful  of  horse,  while  minions  whose  starveling 
fathers  held  the  stirrups  of  my  ancestors,  bask 
121 


King  or  Knave 

in  the  sun  of  royal  favor  and  ride  at  the  head  of 
a  princely  retinue." 

"  God !  it  makes  my  blood  boil  to  think  of  the 
wrongs  of  our  house,"  cried  the  old  baron  fiercely. 
"  When  my  son  should  be  at  his  prince's  side, 
among  his  trusted  companions,  he  must  be  a 
poor  subaltern." 

Then,  with  an  effort  to  practise  the  patience 
he  counselled,  he  changed  the  subject  and  asked, 
"  How  fares  Louis  de  Bellegarde?  " 

"  Ah,  my  faith  !  no  better  than  I.  There  is  a 
fine  fellow  for  you,  brave  as  a  lion,  high-spirited, 
attentive  to  every  duty  of  a  soldier,  a  favorite 
with  everybody.  But,  bah !  poverty  blocks  his 
road  as  fatally  as  mine." 

"  Yes,  that  is  it  precisely,"  said  the  older  man 
quickly  and  with  emphasis.  "  Louis  is  a  fine 
youth,  but,  alas  !  he  is  like  ourselves,  poor." 

Gaston  stole  a  glance  at  his  sister  and  observed 
with  pleasure  her  heightened  color.  At  the  same 
time  the  note  of  qualified  disapproval  in  his 
father's  words  tempted  him  to  push  the  latter  on 
the  subject  of  his  feeling  about  Bellegarde. 

"  I  hoped,  when  Louis  came  here,  some  months 
since,  that  he  would  find  a  warm  welcome  and  an 
invitation  to  spend  several  days  with  you.  His 
early  return  surprised  me.  And  so  dejected  as  he 
was,  poor  fellow !  From  my  heart  I  pitied  him." 

The  young  man  glanced  keenly  at  the  face  of 
each  of  his  companions.  Gabrielle's  had  become 
ashen ;  her  eyes  were  suffused,  and  her  lip  quiv- 
ered. His  father's,  on  the  contrary,  was  set. 

122 


King  or  Knave 

"  Your  friend  was  warmly  welcomed,"  he  said 
dryly ;  "  but  what  would  you  have,  my  son  ?  We 
are  not  in  a  condition  for  entertaining  guests. 
It  wounds  me  to  make  our  poverty  a  spectacle 
to  the  world." 

"  But,  surely,  my  father,  there  is  not  any  reason 
for  treating  Louis  so  formally.  Our  poverty  is 
no  secret  to  him.  There  is  no  truer  friend  of 
our  family  in  all  the  world,  and  none  who  honors 
us  in  our  adversity  more  highly." 

The  baron  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  No 
doubt.  Let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

His  manner  was  so  decided,  and  his  daugh- 
ter's distress  so  evident,  that  her  brother  believed 
he  understood  the  situation  perfectly. 

Later  Gaston  and  his  sister  were  left  alone 
together  for  a  few  moments.  He  came  to  her 
side  quickly,  took  her  hand,  kissed  her  tenderly 
and  whispered,  "  Courage,  little  sister !  I  see  it 
all.  But  be  brave;  I  am  your  friend  always 
and  Louis's.  Better  days  will  come  for  you 
both.  Then  our  father  will  feel  differently. 
Only  be  brave  and  hopeful." 

Then  he  kissed  her  again  and  slipped  a  letter 
into  her  hand. 

To  his  surprise,  Gabrielle,  far  from  responding 
to  his  encouraging  words,  shuddered,  covered 
her  face,  and  fled  from  the  room. 

"  What   strange   creatures  women  are !  "  re- 
flected Gaston.    "  Who  would  have  dreamed  that 
my  father's   severity  would   affect   her  in  that 
way?     Why,  she  looked  at  Louis's  letter  as  if 
123 


King  or  Knave 

she  dreaded  to  touch  it.  How  frightful  that  the 
poor  girl  has  been  so  intimidated !  My  father 
should  be  gentler,  and  should  remember  that 
once  he  was  young  and  loved." 

That  evening  the  conversation  around  the 
family  board  was  not  enlivening.  The  young 
man  was  constrained,  feeling  for  his  sister  and 
resenting  their  father's  hardness  towards  her 
and  his  friend.  Gabrielle  was  pale  and  ab- 
sent, scarcely  touching  her  food.  On  the  plea 
of  a  headache,  she  excused  herself  early  and 
retired. 

After  she  was  gone,  the  two  men  sat  late, 
talking  drearily  of  the  family  affairs  and  of  their 
various  embarrassments. 

Meanwhile  Gabrielle,  in  her  room,  held  in  her 
hand  the  letter  which  she  had  received  from  her 
brother.  It  was  blurred  with  her  tears.  It  ran 
thus: 

MADEMOISELLE  :  What  words  will  tell  with  what  a 
heavy  heart  I  have  lived  since  I  last  saw  you?  I 
went  to  Coeuvres  full  of  high  hopes.  The  memory  of 
our  childish  friendship  and  of  our  later  comradeship, 
so  delightful,  inspired  joyful  anticipations.  Of  Gaston's 
sympathy  I  was  sure.  And  it  was  my  purpose  — 
now  it  seems  too  audacious  to  be  mentioned  —  to 
request  your  father's  consent  to  my  asking  your  hand 
in  marriage. 

Alas  !  when  we  met,  instantly  a  deathly  chill  struck 
my   heart.     What  strange,  icy  influence  had  come 
between  us?     It  was  as  if  a  wall,  impalpable  but  im- 
penetrable, had  been  reared   between  me  and  the 
124 


King  or  Knave 

Gabrielle  of  my  early,  only  love.    I  found  you  beauti- 
ful, oh  !  how  beautiful,  but,  alas  !  how  changed  ! 

Can  it  be,  Mademoiselle,  that  the  maxims  of 
worldly  pride  have  steeled  your  heart,  once  so  tender 
and  unselfish,  and  that  your  Louis  —  so  you  were 
wont  to  call  me  once  —  is  beneath  the  regard  of  one 
whose  beauty  would  indeed  grace  a  throne  ?  I  will 
not  believe  it.  I  will  hold  fast  the  faith  that  your 
perfect  form  is  the  shrine  and  symbol  of  a  soul  as 
fair. 

Is  it,  perchance,  Mademoiselle,  that  you  distrust 
my  love  ?  Let  me  swear  to  you  that  no  other  image 
than  yours  has  ever  found  a  moment's  lodgment  in 
my  heart.  I  live  my  whole  life  in  the  thought  of  you. 
Each  moment  you  are  with  me ;  and  to  my  last  breath 
you  will  reign  alone  and  supreme  in  my  bosom. 

Sometimes  the  dreadful  thought  comes  to  me, 
that  some  other  and  worthier  has  gained  the  place  in 
your  affections  which  I  have  dreamed  might  be  mine. 
Then  hope  whispers  that  this  cannot  be,  since  if  it 
were,  Gaston  would  know  it. 

Oh,  Gabrielle !  I  implore  you,  by  the  bright 
memories  of  our  past,  by  all  the  things  that  you 
cherish  as  most  sacred,  if  you  would  not  cast  away 
from  you  a  loyal  heart  that  adores  and  ever  will  adore 
you,  send  me  a  word  of  cheer.  Tell  me  that  you 
have  labored  under  some  delusion,  and  that,  like  a 
dark  cloud,  it  is  gone  by,  and  the  sun  again  shines  in 
the  heavens  of  my  life.  At  the  least,  bid  me  hope. 

Believe  me  ever,  in  joy  or  in  sorrow,  in  hope  or 
in  despair  alike, 

Your  devoted  servitor, 

Louis  DE  BELLEGARDE. 

"5 


King  or  Knave 

Gabrielle  sat  long  with  this  appeal  before  her. 
Once  she  rose  and  took  a  small  package  from 
an  escritoire.  It  consisted  of  letters  that  had 
come  to  her  within  the  preceding  months, 
through  Lisette's  hands,  how  brought  she  never 
knew  nor  asked.  Now  she  read  them  over. 
They  were  filled  with  a  strange  medley  of  amor- 
ous extravagances  and  a  shrewd  vein  of  cunning 
suggestion,  in  which  future  wealth  and  honors 
were  made  to  figure  freely.  A  divorce,  with  a 
new  marriage  in  view,  was  repeatedly  mentioned 
as  part  of  the  writer's  plan. 

As  she  perused  these  singular  compositions, 
the  young  girl's  face  hardened,  her  lip  curled, 
and  she  ended  by  dashing  them  on  the  floor  and 
stamping  on  them  vehemently.  Then  she  took 
up  Bellegarde's  letter  once  more  and  pressed  it 
passionately  to  her  lips,  murmuring,  "  My  Louis  ! 
Yes,  my  Louis  forever!"  while  tears  fell  fast 
upon  the  paper. 

The  struggle  was  over  —  she  thought.  With 
an  air  of  decision  and  of  intense  relief,  she  drew 
forth  writing  materials  and  began  a  letter.  After 
a  while  she  paused  and  read  what  she  had 
written.  Apparently  it  did  not  satisfy  her,  for 
she  destroyed  it.  She  began  again,  with  the 
same  result,  and  a  third  time.  Then  she  fell 
into  a  long  fit  of  musing.  After  this  she  re- 
read Louis's  letter,  this  time  with  a  curiously 
dispassionate  air. 

Another  spell  of  indecision  followed.  Then 
she  slowly  gathered  up  the  rejected  effusions 
126 


King  or  Knave 

from  the  floor  and  perused  them  with  close 
attention.  After  this  she  sat  a  long  time  with 
her  hand  supporting  her  brow,  without  move- 
ment or  other  sign  of  life  than  her  breathing. 
All  the  while  the  hours  were  slipping  by. 

If  she  had  spoken,  she  would  have  said  that 
she  was  weighing  in  the  one  balance  her  love 
for  Bellegarde,  in  the  other  her  duty  to  her 
father  and  her  solicitude  for  the  restoration  of 
the  family.  Was  she  conscious  of  a  subtle  cur- 
rent of  personal  interest,  giving  weight  to  these 
considerations ;  of  enchanting  visions  of  wealth 
and  grandeur? 

Meanwhile  it  was  growing  late.  Early  in  the 
morning  her  brother  would  start  on  his  return 
to  the  army.  If  she  would  respond  to  Louis's 
appeal,  it  must  be  done  now.  But  no  line  was 
yet  written.  The  candles  began  to  flicker  in 
their  sockets.  Pale,  and  cold  from  her  long 
vigil,  Gabrielle  crept  to  bed. 

Ah !  if  mortals  could  but  know  the  fateful 
hour  in  which  the  battle  of  a  lifetime  is  fought ! 
How  often  they  mistake  for  a  skirmish  the 
decisive  encounter  of  their  existence,  and  even 
after  the  field  is  fought  and  lost,  go  on  idiotically 
serene,  all  unknowing  that  in  every  hour  of  all 
the  years  to  come  they  will  but  act  as  fate's 
executors,  carrying  out  with  pitiless  detail  the 
broad  decree  which  they  have  written  against 
themselves  in  that  book  where  there  are  no 
erasures ! 

In  the  morning  Gaston  augured  ill  for  his 
127 


King  or  Knave 

mission  from  his  sister's  pale  and  rigid  face. 
When  he  whispered  to  her,  "  Come,  give  me  the 
letter  quickly,"  she  only  shook  her  head  and, 
with  a  quivering  lip,  turned  away. 

His  leave-taking  of  her  was  full  of  tender  pity. 
From  his  father  he  parted  with  ill-concealed 
resentment. 


128 


CHAPTER  THE  TENTH 

How  a  lady  -who  has  failed  to  fascinate  a  king  fares 
with  a  monk. 

THE  shadows  of  a  July  evening  were  settling 
upon  Paris.  The  atmosphere  was  sultry,  and  an 
indescribable  air  of  sullenness  brooded  over  the 
city  of  Saint  Genevieve.  The  patron  saint 
seemed  to  the  Parisians  to  have  deserted  her 
charge,  so  gloomy  was  its  present  outlook. 

Little  more  than  a  year  had  elapsed  since  the 
populace  had  been  exalted  to  an  almost  frenzied 
joy  by  the  triumph  of  the  idol  of  all  ultramon- 
tane France.  Since  then  how  swiftly  had  the 
hand  moved  on  the  dial,  if  events  were  reckoned ! 
From  Guise,  hero  of  the  Barricades,  extending 
patronizing  clemency  to  the  royal  troops,  while 
his  sovereign  stole  away,  to  Guise  dictating 
terms  in  the  castle  of  Blois,  was  a  natural  step. 
The  same  logical  process  found  its  conclusion 
in  the  cabinet  where,  in  the  dull  gray  morning, 
Guise  lay  stabbed  to  death. 

Still  inexorable  fate  did  not  stay  its  hand. 
Henry  the  Third,  triumphing  for  a  day  in  the 
destruction  of  his  overweening  subject,  soon 
learned  that  he  had  unchained  forces  greater 
than  he  could  master;  that  Guise  dead  was 
9  129 


King  or  Knave 

mightier  than  Guise  living.  The  mask  was 
thrown  away.  It  was  war  to  the  knife  between 
the  King  and  the  Catholic  League.  Then  im- 
perious necessity  drove  him  into  the  arms  of 
Henry  of  Navarre.  He,  with  the  intuition  of 
genius,  trusted  his  brother-in-law,  whom  all  the 
world  with  good  reason  distrusted,  and  joined 
hands  with  him. 

So  it  was  that  the  only  gainer  by  all  these 
movements  and  counter-movements  was  that 
child  of  destiny,  the  astute  Be*arnais,  who  found 
himself  advanced  from  the  position  of  an  armed 
rebel  to  that  of  an  ally  of  his  King  and  the  chief 
pillar  of  the  throne. 

Now  the  two  monarchs  were  besieging  the 
city. 

What  mutations  of  fortune  had  Henry  of 
Navarre  experienced  since  he  last  looked  upon 
Paris !  He  had  fled  from  it,  when  his  manhood 
revolted  from  a  shameful  captivity.  Years  he 
had  spent  in  battling  with  adversity.  He  had 
made  a  name  for  himself  in  the  world.  In  all 
the  long  struggle  of  the  reformed  faith  he  had 
won  its  only  victory  on  a  pitched  field.  Now 
the  fugitive  had  come  back,  illustrious,  admired 
by  his  friends  and  dreaded  by  his  enemies. 
Who  could  withstand  the  onward  march  of  this 
child  of  fortune,  whom  every  turn  of  its  wheel 
advanced  to  some  more  commanding  position? 

As  to  the  other  Henry,  things  looked  better 
for  him  than  at   any  time  since    he    galloped 
away  by  night   from   Cracow  with  the  stolen 
130 


King  or  Knave 

crown-jewels  of  his  kingdom  of  Poland,  to 
mount  the  throne  of  France.  The  alliance 
with  his  redoubtable  brother-in-law  had  made 
him  strong  enough,  it  seemed,  to  put  his  ene- 
mies under  his  feet.  With  him,  besides,  were 
all  the  loyal  and  moderate  Catholics.  Against 
him  Guise's  heavy  brother,  Mayenne,  com- 
manded a  much  smaller  army. 

No  wonder  that,  on  this  evening,  a  gloomy 
and  ominous  silence  brooded  over  the  be- 
leaguered city.  Its  doom  seemed  to  march 
upon  it,  inexorable.  A  few  citizens  abroad 
in  the  almost  deserted  streets  passed  one  an- 
other with  looks  showing  a  common  dread,  or 
else  conversed  in  undertones  on  the  impending 
fate.  At  what  hour  might  not  the  besieging 
army  carry  the  walls  by  assault?  Then  what 
was  to  be  expected  from  the  King,  who  had 
sworn  that  he  would  re-enter  Paris  only  through 
a  breach?  or  from  the  Be"arnais,  equally  dam- 
nable in  religion  and  politics,  heir  of  a  gen- 
eration of  hate? 

Now  through  the  darkening  streets  a  monk 
glided  with  stealthy,  cat-like  tread.  He  turned 
into  the  Pre"-aux-Clercs  and  stopped  before  a 
house  whose  appearance  indicated  that  it  was 
occupied  by  a  person  of  consideration.  A  low 
knock  brought  an  attendant  to  the  door.  The 
visitor  leaned  forward  and  whispered  a  word. 
Immediately  the  door  was  thrown  open. 

Following  his  guide,  the  monk  ascended  a 
wide  flight  of  stairs  to  a  reception-room  of  a 


King  or  Knave 

certain  sombre  splendor,  dimly  revealed  by 
a  light  burning  in  a  silver  cresset.  Against 
the  wall  hung  weapons  and  pieces  of  armor, 
and  a  portiere  showed  a  princely  crest  em- 
broidered in  gold. 

The  visitor  threw  back  his  head  and  surveyed 
his  surroundings  with  the  awe  of  a  rustic. 

He  was  an  uncouth,  strangely  repellent  crea- 
ture. His  face  was  flat,  his  nostrils  coarse  and 
broad,  his  lips  thick  and  sensual,  and  his  stubby 
hair,  rusty-black,  grew  so  low  on  his  receding 
forehead  as  to  give  him  a  distinctly  apish  look, 
which  was  exaggerated  by  a  ridge  running  all 
the  way  across  in  an  unbroken  arch  and  cov- 
ered by  bushy  eyebrows.  From  beneath  this 
pent-house  peered  beady  eyes,  restless  and  fur- 
tive, with  a  strong  suggestion  of  insanity.  His 
squat  figure  was  so  gaunt  that  his  frock  hung 
about  him  in  shapeless  folds.  His  hands,  huge 
and  bony,  were  in  almost  incessant  motion. 
Altogether  he  gave  one  a  mingled  impression 
of  cunning  and  ferocity,  of  sensuality  and  su- 
perstition, a  compound  of  ape  and  tiger,  of 
goat  and  fanatic. 

In  a  few  moments  the  portiere  was  drawn 
aside,  and  a  woman  entered.  She  was  neither 
young  nor  beautiful.  Yet  there  was  about  her 
something  that  piqued  curiosity  and  marked 
her  as  a  woman  that  might  command  men  of 
a  certain  type,  as  surely  as  she  would  repel 
others.  There  was  in  her  manner  a  suggestion 
of  mingled  ferocity  and  license.  Savage  and 
132 


King  or  Knave 

sensual,  she  was  of  the  type  of  women  who, 
with  their  lovers,  sat  in  the  Roman  arena  and 
turned  down  their  thumbs,  when  the  wounded 
gladiator  sued  for  mercy.  Too  masculine  to 
be  loved,  she  was  capable  of  playing  balefully 
on  weak  men's  passions. 

As  a  daughter  of  an  illustrious  house,  as  a 
sister  of  Guise,  as  one  who  had  aspired  to  the 
companionship  of  the  King  and  was  high  enough 
to  resent  her  disappointment,  pride  was  natural 
to  Madame  de  Montpensier.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  exigencies  of  political  intrigue,  into 
which  she  had  thrown  herself  with  the  fervor 
of  an  ambitious  and  virile  nature,  had  extin- 
guished the  last  remnant  of  conscience  or  of 
modesty,  and  had  accustomed  her  to  view 
her  person  as  a  battery  charged  with  potential 
influence  over  the  opposite  sex,  which  it 
behooved  her  to  use,  as  often  as  occasion 
served,  for  the  ends  which  she  had  in  view. 

The  chief  of  these  was  the  advancement  of 
the  Church;  for  she  would  have  been  an  ex- 
ceptional product  of  the  times,  if  she  had  not 
combined  with  the  traits  already  sketched  a 
consuming  interest  in  religion.  Of  this  the 
special  object  was  the  Holy  Catholic  League. 
This  association  made  spiritual  interests  con- 
veniently concrete.  Instead  of  offering  misty 
abstractions,  it  enabled  zealous  persons,  by 
working  for  certain  visible  ends,  at  once  to 
secure  their  own  salvation  and  to  further  the 
establishment  of  the  kingdom  of  God  on  earth. 


King  or  Knave 

In  following  this  congenial  line,  Madame  de 
Montpensier  had  become  an  adept  in  playing 
upon  those  elements  of  the  masculine  nature 
which,  touched  by  the  fingers  of  gentle  woman- 
hood, respond  from  the  holiest  depths  of  a 
man's  being  with  the  best  that  is  in  him,  but, 
struck  by  the  hot  hands  of  passion,  plunge  him 
perchance  into  the  abyss  of  damnation. 

She  advanced  and  with  one  glance  read  her 
visitor,  while  the  monk  bowed  low  before  the 
"  Queen  of  the  League." 

"  And  this  is  Brother  Jacques,  of  whom  I  have 
heard  so  much  good,"  she  said  in  her  softest 
tones,  extending  her  hand  to  be  kissed  and  throw- 
ing into  this  simple  action  a  subtle  challenge. 

The  monk  fell  on  his  knees,  took  the  white, 
jewelled  fingers  in  his  huge,  bony  hand,  and 
pressed  them  to  his  thick  lips  with  the  fervor 
of  a  worshipper  at  a  saint's  shrine.  Already 
he  was  wild.  The  touch  of  her  drapery  be- 
wildered, the  delicate  perfume  of  her  person 
intoxicated  him.  The  unwonted  experience 
set  his  brain  in  a  whirl.  He  could  but  murmur 
disjointedly,  "Your  Excellency  —  too  much 
honor  —  die  at  your  bidding." 

The  keen-eyed  lady  recognized  the  symp- 
toms. Fearful  of  producing  a  too  overwhelm- 
ing effect  at  once,  she  withdrew  her  hand  and 
took  a  chair,  saying,  "  Rise,  Brother  Jacques, 
and  be  seated."  The  monk  obeyed. 

"  Is  it  true,  Brother  Jacques,  that  God  has 
inspired  you  for  a  great  undertaking?" 


King  or  Knave 

"  He  has  called  me  to  serve  Him  with  my 
life,  your  Excellency,  if  He  will  it  so,"  replied 
the  monk,  who  had  regained  some  measure  of 
composure,  in  the  form  of  words  which  he  had 
used  so  often  of  late  that  he  uttered  it  almost 
automatically. 

"  You  speak,  Brother  Jacques,  like  a  true  son 
of  holy  Mother  Church.  Shame  on  those  who 
have  taken  her  vows  and  think  to  fulfil  them  in 
living  at  their  ease,  while  God's  vineyard  is 
wasted  by  heretics  and  wild  beasts !  If  I  were 
a  man  — "  then  she  broke  off,  as  if  she  durst 
not  give  full  utterance  to  her  feeling. 

The  monk  greedily  seized  the  bait.  "  God's 
work  will  not  suffer  for  lack  of  a  man  to 
do  it." 

"Ah!  you  are  true  and  brave,  Brother 
Jacques,  and  you  will  have  your  reward." 

Her  look  of  admiration  lifted  the  monk  into 
an  ecstasy.  He  seemed  to  soar  above  the  nar- 
row bounds  of  all  his  former  years.  The  piety 
of  monastic  discipline,  with  its  fastings  and 
ceaseless  prayers,  with  its  coarse  garb  and 
meagre  fare  and  hard  bed,  was  for  poor  shave- 
lings who  knew  no  other  road  to  Heaven.  But 
he  had  been  illuminated.  As  by  a  flash  of 
revelation,  he  had  seen  Paradise  opened  on 
earth  to  those  who  do  doughty  deeds  for  God. 
A  single  wanton  smile  had  fired  his  weak  brain 
with  visions  of  himself  as  a  hero  of  the  faith, 
loved  by  a  princess. 

The  lady  noted  the  effect  of  her  words  and 
'35 


King  or  Knave 

her  glance  in  her  visitor's  wild  eye.  It  was 
time  to  recall  him  to  himself. 

"  You  have  the  watchword  ?  " 

"  I  have,  your  Excellency." 

"  How  will  you  gain  an  audience,  Brother 
Jacques?" 

"  By  means  of  letters,  your  Excellency,  from 
two  of  those  traitors  who  are  called  Poli- 
tiques.  I  have  led  them  to  believe  that  I  am 
charged  with  a  secret  negotiation  for  the  sur- 
render of  Paris.  Thus  I  shall  secure  an  in- 
terview." 

"  How  wise  you  are,  Brother  Jacques  !  You 
have  thought  of  everything."  This  with  an- 
other of  those  thrilling  glances  that  fired  the 
crazy  monk's  brain.  Again  she  recalled  him  to 
himself  with  a  question,  spoken  low. 

"  You  have  —  what  is  needful?  " 

"  It  is  here."  He  drew  from  the  bosom  of 
his  frock  and  gave  a  glimpse  of  something 
black,  with  a  meaning  nod.  He  added,  "  It 
has  been  blessed,  and  special  prayers  will  be 
offered  at  early  mass  that  God  will  speed  me." 

"As  He  surely  will,  Brother  Jacques,"  said 
the  other  enthusiastically.  "  And  now  it  is 
time  for  you  to  set  out  on  your  mission.  God 
go  with  you  !  " 

Without  this  reminder  the  monk  would  have 
sat  on,  forgetful  of  everything  but  the  rapture  of 
seeing  and  speaking  to  this  heavenly  creature. 
He  rose  to  take  his  leave. 

Again  the  lady  extended  her  hand  to  be 
136 


King  or  Knave 

kissed.  The  monk  knelt  over  it  and  pressed  it 
to  his  burning  lips,  while  his  brain  swam. 

"  Remember,"  she  said,  "  Brother  Jacques, 
when  it  is  done,  to  come  back  to  me.  You 
serve  God,  and  He  will  reward  you.  Still  —  " 
here  her  voice  trembled,  and  a  thrill  shot  through 
her  fingers,  " come  back  to  me" 

Brother  Jacques  went  away  intoxicated.  A 
fever  was  in  his  blood.  He  trod  on  air.  Visions 
of  glory  floated  before  him.  He  saw  himself,  as 
it  were  in  a  dream,  exalted  to  the  Church's 
highest  honors;  envied  by  the  dull  brethren 
doomed  to  drudge  in  the  deadly  tedium  of  the 
cloister;  enjoying  a  rapturous  felicity  of  high- 
placed  love,  such  as  only  princes  of  the  Church 
sometimes  possessed.  Ever  and  again  the 
thrilling  words  rang  through  his  brain,  "  Come 
back  to  me" 

He  took  his  way  toward  the  city-gate.  It  was 
closed,  but  at  the  whispered  word,  "  Mendoza," 
the  ponderous  portal  swung  open  for  him,  and 
he  went  forth  into  the  night,  on  the  road  to 
Saint  Cloud. 


CHAPTER  THE  ELEVENTH 

How  Louis  de  Bellegarde,  coming  again  to  plead  his  love, 
unknowingly  works  the  spell  of  the  Fleur-de-lis  and 
leaves  Gabrielle  entranced  with  the  vision. 

AFTER  the  departure  of  Gaston  from  Cceuvres, 
the  relations  between  father  and  daughter  were 
by  no  means  cordial.  The  baron  felt  that  he 
had  a  grievance  against  Gabrielle.  He  had 
noticed  the  constraint  of  his  son's  manner  at 
parting  and  had  attributed  it  to  the  right  source. 
And  Gabrielle,  as  the  indirect  cause  of  this  chill 
between  himself  and  his  only  boy,  fell  quite 
naturally  under  his  displeasure. 

At  any  rate,  what  was  a  girl's  sentiment  about 
a  young  man,  that  it  should  be  taken  into 
account,  when  graver  matters  were  to  be  con- 
sidered ?  And  how  preposterous  that  anything 
so  tenuous  and  vague  should  intrude  itself  into 
the  relations  of  those  who  alone  have  in  their 
hands  the  guidance  of  the  family  destinies  in 
such  matters  as  the  bestowal  of  a  daughter's 
hand !  His  rightful  authority  was  traversed. 
And  he  resented  it. 

On  Gabrielle's  side  the  feeling  had  grown 
that  she  was  the  patient  victim  of  her  father's 
austerity  and  of  her  devotion  to  her  brother's 
'38 


King  or  Knave 

interests.  She  never  doubted  that  she  had  pain- 
fully denied  her  love  expression,  in  refusing  to 
send  to  Bellegarde  the  word  of  hope  for  which 
he  begged. 

Self-pity  had  grown  to  be  her  constant  mood, 
herself  the  most  interesting  object  of  contempla- 
tion. She  nursed  her  woe  by  incessant  brood- 
ing and,  in  the  absence  of  a  confidante,  lived 
in  an  atmosphere  of  morbid  self-communion. 
She  persuaded  herself  that  Louis  was  as  dear  to 
her  as  ever,  but  dear  as  part  of  a  vanished 
dream.  She  thought  of  him  with  tender  melan- 
choly. She  murmured  his  name  to  herself  with 
a  sigh.  She  gazed  fondly  at  the  objects  that 
were  associated  with  him.  At  times  she  drew 
forth  his  letter,  kissed  it  fervently,  wet  it  with 
her  tears,  and  carefully  locked  it  away. 

The  baron  could  not  fail  to  observe  his 
daughter's  constrained  manner  and  her  pallor 
and  pre-occupation.  These  indications  con- 
vinced him  of  the  correctness  of  his  suspicion 
that  she  had  a  strong  sentiment  for  Bellegarde, 
and  he  congratulated  himself  on  his  wisdom  in 
early  and  firmly  showing  his  hand  in  that 
matter.  He  was,  therefore,  the  more  strenuous 
and  insistent  in  reiterating  his  favorite  maxims 
for  her  guidance. 

Thus  matters  stood  when,  one  day,  Monsieur 
Louis  de  Bellegarde  was  announced. 

A  thunder-bolt  falling  at  their  feet  could 
scarcely  have  produced  a  more  painful  surprise. 
The  baron  frowned  and  bit  his  lip.  How  could 


King  or  Knave 

the  young  man  venture  to  come  thither  ?  Was  it 
not  made  plain  enough,  at  his  last  visit,  on  what 
ground  he  must  be  content  to  stand? 

He  turned  almost  savagely  upon  her.  She 
was  in  a  state  of  pitiable  agitation.  But  the 
sight  of  her  emotion  only  exasperated  him. 
Had  she  not  brought  this  trouble  upon  herself? 
And  by  her  silly  indulgence  of  sentiment  had 
she  not  put  him  in  a  most  embarrassing 
position? 

But  something  must  be  done.  The  visitor 
was  waiting. 

"Admit  Monsieur  de  Bellegarde,"  he  said 
testily  to  Gaspard,  and  then  turned  upon  his 
daughter  a  look  that  was  intended  to  be  wither- 
ing. But  she  was  laboring  under  a  trouble  so 
much  deeper  than  the  knowledge  of  her  father's 
displeasure,  that  she  was  scarcely  conscious 
of  it. 

In  a  moment  Bellegarde  entered  the  room. 
He  noted  the  coldness  of  the  baron's  greeting 
and  his  daughter's  constraint.  But  for  the 
former  he  was  fully  prepared,  and  the  latter 
filled  him  with  sweet  hope.  What  lover  would 
not  have  been  encouraged  by  the  sight  of  his 
lady's  agitation?  What  meaning  could  it  have 
but  one?  And  how  exquisitely  beautiful  she 
looked  in  her  confusion,  as  the  rich  blood  man- 
tled her  cheeks  to  the  roots  of  her  golden  hair 
and  then,  retreating,  left  them  like  alabaster ! 

The  delightful  augury  which  he  drew  from 
these  symptoms,  and  the  fact  that  he  brought 
140 


King  or  Knave 

tidings  which  would  not  fail  to  soften  the 
father's  heart,  inspired  the  young  man  with  a 
hopefulness  that  could  not  easily  be  damped. 

In  truth  the  situation  bore  quite  naturally  a 
most  favorable  interpretation.  Louis's  impres- 
sion that  Gabrielle  cared  for  him  had  been  con- 
firmed, when  Gaston  returned  from  Coeuvres 
with  his  report.  What  though  Gabrielle  had 
made  no  response  to  his  earnest  appeal?  Might 
it  not  well  be  that  her  silence  cost  her  as  much 
pain  as  it  had  inflicted  upon  him?  So  they 
fancied ;  for  the  young  men  had  quite  grown 
into  the  habit  of  thinking  of  her  as  she  was  wont 
to  think  of  herself,  in  the  light  of  a  patient 
victim  of  paternal  austerity. 

So  it  was  that  Louis  entered  the  room  where 
sat  the  master  of  Cceuvres  and  his  lovely 
daughter,  with  a  heart  full  of  hope.  It  was  no 
wonder  that  there  was  in  his  bearing  a  certain 
irresistible  friendliness. 

In  spite  of  himself,  at  the  first  view  of  this 
honest  young  face,  so  frank  and  so  trustful,  the 
master  of  Cceuvres  felt  his  icy  reserve  melting. 

Coming  forward,  the  visitor  saluted  the  occu- 
pants of  the  room  with  easy  grace,  lifting  first 
the  baron's,  then  Gabrielle's  fingers  to  his  lips, 
as  he  bowed  low  to  each. 

Try  as  he  might  to  steel  himself  in  his  attitude 
of  selfish  worldliness,  there  was  still  left  enough 
of  unspoiled  human  nature  in  the  old  nobleman's 
breast  to  be  touched  with  a  sort  of  pride  and 
affection  in  looking  upon  this  fine  young  fellow. 
141 


King  or  Knave 

As  to  Gabrielle,  she  experienced  undeniably 
a  thrill  of  joy  in  feeling  her  cold  fingers  pressed 
to  his  warm  lips.  How  delightful  was  the  mes- 
sage of  love  that  flashed  through  that  salute, 
formal  to  the  outward  eye  !  The  next  moment 
a  certain  memory  rushed  across  her,  and  she 
shuddered. 

"  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  Louis,  "  I  do  not 
come  solely  of  my  own  volition,  nor  wholly  for 
my  individual  pleasure,  great  as  that  also  is. 
But  I  am  the  bearer  of  tidings  so  important  that 
Gaston  and  I  have  thought  we  should  not  let 
you  first  learn  them  from  strangers.  He  has 
given  me  the  privilege  of  bringing  you  the  first 
intelligence  of  an  occurrence  which  seems  to 
promise  honor  and  advancement  to  him." 

He  had  struck  the  right  note.  At  the  words 
"  honor  and  advancement "  the  baron's  starved 
heart  leaped  as  a  war-horse's  bounds  at  the 
sound  of  martial  music. 

"  Your  coming,  Monsieur  de  Bellegarde,"  he 
said  with  instant  graciousness,  "  never  needs  an 
apology.  You  are  always  welcome  here.  But 
you  are  doubly  welcome,  if  you  bring  news  of 
my  son's  well-being.  Be  seated,  I  pray  you." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  first,"  said  Bellegarde,  "  what 
concerns  all  France.  King  Henry  the  Third  is 
dead." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Monsieur?  "  exclaimed  the 
baron,  starting  from  his  seat  in  amazement. 

But  his  emotion  was  slight,  compared  with 
his  daughter's.  Bellegarde,  glancing  at  her, 
142 


King  or  Knave 

was  surprised  to  see  her   ashen  in  color  and 
apparently  terrified. 

"Yes,  he  is  dead,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  he 
said,  "  stabbed  by  an  assassin  of  a  monk,  who 
pretended  to  have  secret  information  for  him, 
and  so  was  admitted  to  a  private  interview." 

"  Who  is  the  real  murderer,  is  the  question," 
cried  the  baron  vehemently.  "  The  monk  was 
but  the  dagger.  Whose  hand  directed  the 
blow?" 

"  Ah  !  That  is  a  difficult  question,  Monsieur 
le  Baron,"  replied  Bellegarde,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  Then,  lowering  his  voice,  he  added, 
"  There  is  much  talk  of  great  personages  in  the 
secret  counsels  of  the  League.  Some  hint  at  a 
lady—" 

"The  Montpensier? "  asked  the  baron  ea- 
gerly. 

Bellegarde  nodded.  Then  he  said,  "Unfor- 
tunately, somebody  ran  his  sword  through  the 
murderer  on  the  spot;  and,  the  man  being  dead, 
there  is  not  any  way  of  ascertaining,  as  by  putting 
him  to  the  rack,  who  instigated  the  deed." 

All  the  while  Gabrielle  sat  silent  and  as  if 
frozen  with  terror. 

"Did  his  Majesty  live  long  after  receiving 
the  blow  ?  "  asked  her  father. 

"  For  several  hours.  At  the  first,  it  was  be- 
lieved that  he  would  recover.  The  King  of 
Navarre  was  sent  for  and  came  immediately. 
The  two  talked  together  for  some  time,  and  his 
poor  Majesty  seemed  quite  cheerful.  Then, 


King  or  Knave 

after  several  hours,  a  sudden  change  for  the 
worse  set  in.  He  prepared  for  his  end  by 
receiving  the  blessed  sacrament  and  earnestly 
commended  the  King  of  Navarre  to  his  officers, 
as  their  rightful  sovereign,  and  exhorted  them  to 
give  him  all  due  obedience  and  loyalty.  Some 
who  were  present  say  that  he  added,  '  You  will 
never  be  King  of  France,  my  brother,  until  you 
become  a  Catholic  again.' " 

"  And  that  is  true,"  exclaimed  the  elder  man 
emphatically.  "  But,  tell  me,  how  was  the  ac- 
cession of  the  new  king  received  ?  " 

"  Oh !  the  excitement  was  at  the  first  inde- 
scribable. It  seemed  as  if  there  would  be  an 
outbreak  against  the  new  monarch,  so  bitterly 
some  felt  towards  him.  They  had  been  willing 
to  serve  with  him  as  the  ally  of  a  Catholic  king. 
But  when  it  became  a  question  of  acknowledg- 
ing him  as  their  sovereign,  many  swore  roundly 
that  they  never  would  give  their  allegiance  to 
a  heretic ;  that  only  a  Catholic  can  be  King  of 
France." 

"The  idiots!"  growled  the  baron.  "To  act 
as  if  they  think  the  matter  of  a  ruler's  religion 
more  important  than  his  right  to  the  throne ! 
But  I  interrupt  you.  Go  on,  I  beg.  You  in- 
terest me  deeply." 

"  There  is  but  little  more  to  tell.  A  few  were 
violent.  Marshal  d'fipernon  was  furious.  He 
swore  that  he  never  would  serve  under  a  brig- 
and king,  and  led  his  whole  force  away  to  his 
government  of  Normandy." 
144 


King  or  Knave 

"Arrogant  ape!"  exclaimed  the  other  an- 
grily. "  Insolence  is  a  family  trait  in  that  house. 
An  ancestor  of  this  upstart  struck  a  pope  in  the 
face.  But  what  said  the  most  of  the  officers?  " 

"  A  few  followed  fipernon's  bad  example  and 
marched  away.  But  from  the  beginning  some 
declared  that  the  question  of  religion  was  one 
for  priests  to  quarrel  over,  and  that  God  might 
be  trusted  to  deal  with  a  heretic;  but  as  for 
themselves,  the  only  question  was  that  of  the 
right  to  the  throne,  and  that  right  the  King  of 
Navarre  possessed." 

"  Wise  fellows  they ! "  cried  the  baron  emphati- 
cally. "  But  I  am  impatient  to  hear  what  course 
you  and  Gaston  followed." 

"  Can  you  doubt,  Monsieur  le  Baron?  Hold- 
ing those  principles  which  you  and  my  honored 
father  have  ever  instilled  into  us,  we  should  have 
deemed  it  treachery  to  withhold  our  allegiance 
for  a  moment  from  our  lawful  sovereign,  be  his 
religious  belief  what  it  might.  We  were  of 
those  who  without  delay  declared  for  the  new 
king." 

"  Thank  God !  "  fervently  ejaculated  the  old 
nobleman.  "  I  knew  that  my  boy  would  not 
fail  his  master  in  the  time  of  his  need.  And 
you  have  done  well,  Louis,  in  following  the 
same  principle.  From  my  heart  I  congratulate 
you."  Thereupon  he  seized  the  young  man  by 
both  hands  and  wrung  them. 

Louis,  delighted  at  this  unexpected  demon- 
stration, glanced  at  Gabrielle,  looking  for  a 
10  I4S 


King  or  Knave 

responsive  light  in  her  eyes.  What  he  saw  was 
a  face  of  stony  hardness,  while  her  thoughts 
seemed  busy  with  some  far-away  object.  He 
was  recalled  to  himself  by  a  question  from  his 
host. 

"  Had  you  and  Gaston  an  opportunity  of 
avowing  your  allegiance  to  the  King  in  person?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  Monsieur ;  it  is  that  of  which  I  am 
especially  to  speak,  and  that  is  the  joyful  part 
of  my  story." 

"  True,"  said  the  baron ;  "  I  have  been  so 
absorbed  in  the  interest  of  your  prelude,  as  to 
have  forgotten  that  you  bring  some  news  of 
particular  importance  to  Gaston's  welfare.  Go 
on,  if  you  please." 

"  I  am  especially  charged  to  tell  you,  Mon- 
sieur, of  the  happy  occasion  of  our  presentation 
to  his  Majesty,  King  Henry  the  Fourth.  Marshal 
de  Biron  being  most  active  in  confirming  the 
new  order,  we  petitioned  him  to  bring  us  to  our 
new  master.  He  gladly  presented  us  to  the 
King  with  some  kind  words.  Our  fathers,  he 
said,  had  faithfully  served  the  crown,  and  we 
were  come  to  declare  to  his  Majesty  our  pur- 
pose to  follow  in  their  steps. 

"The  King  was  pleased  to  receive  us  most 
graciously.  My  name  chanced  to  be  pronounced 
first.  He  took  me  by  the  hand  in  a  very  friendly 
way,  saying,  '  Monsieur  de  Bellegarde,  I  rejoice 
to  welcome  you  into  my  service  and  assure  you 
of  my  good-will.' 

"  Next  came  Gaston's  turn.  No  sooner  was 
146 


King  or  Knave 

his  name  uttered  than  his  Majesty  asked  eagerly, 
'Monsieur  d'Estrees,  of  the  Picard  regiment?' 

"  '  The  same,  Sire.' 

"  '  And  son  of  the  Baron  of  Cceuvres?' 

"  '  I  have  that  honor,  Sire.' 

"  '  Ah,  then,  Monsieur  d'Estrees,  let  me  greet 
you  with  all  my  heart.  I  have  heard  of  you  as 
a  gallant  and  most  deserving  officer,  worthy  son 
of  a  brave  sire.  Be  assured,  your  interest  shall 
be  my  constant  care.'  Then  he  embraced  him 
most  graciously. 

"  The  compliment  was  so  unexpected  and  so 
overwhelming,  that  Gaston  scarcely  knew  which 
way  to  look.  Indeed  everybody  was  amazed, 
and  some  of  the  older  officers  scowled  darkly  at 
him,  as  we  came  out  of  the  audience-chamber. 
But  what  cared  we  for  their  jealousy?  With 
the  King  for  his  friend  and  patron,  Gaston  may 
overlook  the  envious  feelings  of  those  who  fail 
to  recognize  his  title  to  consideration.  If  they 
think,  forsooth,  that  he  lacks  the  claim  of  long 
service,  they  should  remember,  Monsieur,  that 
he  has  a  most  indubitable  title  in  your  devotion 
to  the  crown  and  your  sacrifices  in  its  behalf." 

Was  our  ingenuous  Bellegarde  withal  a  bit  of 
a  diplomatist?  At  all  events,  his  reference  to 
the  baron's  services  was  most  timely  and  effec- 
tive. It  touched  the  old  man's  pride  and  further 
softened  his  heart.  His  eye  kindled  with  joy. 

"  This  is,  indeed,  good  news  which  you  have 
brought  us,  Louis.  At  last  the  dark  clouds 
seem  to  roll  away  and  the  sunshine  of  prosperity 
147 


King  or  Knave 

to  visit  our  house.  I  am  delighted  that  Gaston 
now  serves  a  monarch  who  is  capable  of  discern- 
ing his  own  merit  and  of  recognizing  in  him  the 
representative  of  ancient  and  strong  claims.  I 
rejoice  equally  with  you  in  the  more  promising 
future  before  you." 

He  turned  to  Gabrielle,  expecting  to  see  in 
her  face  a  reflection  of  his  own  good  humor 
and  some  evidence  of  pleasure  at  his  kindly 
demeanor  towards  Louis.  Instead,  the  look  on 
her  face  filled  him  with  astonishment. 

"What  ails  you,  Gabrielle?"  he  asked  half 
angrily.  "  Have  you  no  interest  in  what  touches 
our  happiness  so  deeply?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  rejoiced,  my  father,"  she  stam- 
mered ;  "  but  this  news  of  Gaston's  —  of  our 
good  fortune  —  is  so  sudden  —  it  overcomes 
me." 

He  gave  her  a  keen  and  resentful  look.  Here 
was  fresh  evidence  of  her  perversity.  When  a 
right-minded  girl  would  have  been  overflowing 
with  happiness  at  her  brother's  success  and  the 
prospect  of  advancement  for  the  family,  she 
looked  a  picture  of  woe.  And  what  more 
could  she  expect  that  he  should  say  to  Belle- 
garde?  All  along  she  had  seemed  to  resent 
his  coldness.  Now,  when  he  showed  himself 
most  pointedly  courteous,  she  gave  no  sign  of 
having  noticed  the  change.  What  a  wilful 
vixen ! 

When  Gabrielle  retired  to  her  room  that 
evening,  she  was  in  deep  distress.  Never  had 
148 


King  or  Knave 

she  so  fully  realized  what  it  was  to  give  up 
Bellegarde.  Her  early  affection  seemed  re- 
vived in  full  force.  Now  that  tidings  had  come 
of  occurrences  which  swept  her  away  further 
from  him,  he  was  dearer  than  ever.  His  image, 
as  he  had  appeared  a  few  moments  ago,  rose 
before  her,  as  if  to  protest  against  the  wrong 
she  was  doing  him. 

How  handsome  he  looked !  How  distin- 
guished !  What  manliness,  what  truth,  what 
generosity  in  his  clear  eye  !  What  sincerity  in 
his  voice !  Ah,  happy  the  woman  who  might 
call  him  hers !  But  not  for  her  this  joy.  No, 
not  for  her !  Already  she  felt  as  if  she  had 
thrown  away  from  her  the  possibility  of  happi- 
ness, and  committed  herself  to  a  course  from 
which  there  was  no  turning  back.  She  re- 
called the  time  in  which  she  might  have  given 
her  love  to  Louis,  as  a  fallen  angel  might  look 
back  to  its  innocence. 

She  burst  into  a  storm  of  passionate  weeping. 
She  murmured,  "  Ah,  Louis,  my  Louis,  mine 
never  to  be !  Could  you  know  the  pangs  I 
suffer  in  denying  you  the  love  for  which  your 
eyes  plead  so  tenderly !  Could  you  read  my 
heart,  what  would  you  find  but  your  own  image 
there?" 

She  drew  forth  hrs  letter,  that  cherished  token 
of  his  devotion,  and  covered  it  with  kisses. 
She  inveighed  against  the  cruel  destiny  which 
drove  her  to  forego  the  only  possible  joy  of  her 
existence. 

149 


King  or  Knave 

But  withal  she  never  thought  of  turning  back. 
To  herself  she  said  that  she  had  no  choice. 
She  was  driven,  she  fancied,  by  forces  higher 
than  self-interest  and  stronger  than  her  will. 
There  was  a  strange  sense  of  a  power  impelling 
her  towards  a  fixed  goal.  She  found  herself 
thinking  of  her  secret  suitor  with  a  certain  awe. 
How  irresistibly  he  strode  along  the  highway  of 
destiny !  All  things  seemed  to  serve  him. 

How  strange  that  he  was  now  her  King! 
When  he  should  kneel  again  before  her,  as  he 
surely  would,  for  the  burning  letters  still  came, 
she  would  have  her  sovereign  at  her  feet. 

As  she  thought  of  him,  she  felt  as  if  she  were 
a  hunted  creature,  about  which  the  meshes  of 
a  great,  invisible  net  were  steadily  closing.  It 
was  as  if  she  were  charmed,  fascinated,  paralyzed, 
seeing  afar  what  no  eye  but  hers  could  see,  but 
equally  powerless  to  escape  or  to  resist. 

But  why  should  she  shrink  from  this  future  ? 
How  many  thousands  of  girls,  handsome  and 
well-born,  would  make  any  sacrifice  to  have 
the  same  goal  in  view !  Already  this  relation 
had  begun  to  prove  itself  helpful  to  the  family 
interests.  Surely  Gaston's  gracious  treatment 
at  the  hands  of  his  new  master  was  matter  for 
rejoicing.  This  reflection  gave  a  more  cheerful 
turn  to  her  thoughts.  How  little  her  father 
guessed  to  what  source  was  really  due  that  ray 
of  royal  favor  which  had  brought  gladness  to 
his  withered  heart!  She  smiled  a  little  com- 
placently in  recalling  his  naive  egotism  in  cred- 
150 


King  or  Knave 

iting  it  to  his  own  services.  Who  could  divine 
that  she  was  the  potential  mistress  of  France  ? 

She  was  easily  carried  on  to  an  expansion  of 
this  theme.  If,  at  this  early  stage,  she  was, 
without  a  spoken  wish,  so  influential  with  her 
royal  suitor,  what  limit  could  be  set  to  her 
power,  if  she  should  accept  the  offered  empire 
over  his  heart?  Who  did  not  know  the  story 
of  those  women,  the  real  queens  of  France,  who 
through  a  succession  of  kings  had  mightily 
influenced  their  country's  destiny?  Not  only 
had  they  shone  as  ornaments  of  the  court;  not 
only  had  they  set  its  fashions  and  given  it  tone ; 
not  only  had  they  dispensed  the  royal  favor  in 
matters  social,  according  to  their  sweet  will: 
they  had  stamped  their  impress  upon  public 
affairs.  They  had  made  and  unmade  ministers. 
Archbishops  and  cardinals  had  eagerly  sought 
alliance  with  them  in  furthering  the  interests 
of  the  Church.  The  Emperor,  visiting  Francis, 
had  politely  ignored  the  Queen,  his  own  sister, 
and  paid  assiduous  court  to  the  mistress.  They 
had  instigated  wars,  dictated  treaties,  proposed 
taxes,  in  short,  made  themselves  felt  without 
reserve  or  limit  in  every  field  of  the  national 
life. 

What  a  magnificent  opportunity !  What  a 
great  work  some  of  these  historic  women  had 
done !  Who  but  Odette  de  Champdivers  had 
cared  for  and  comforted  the  poor,  crazy  king, 
while  his  profligate  wife  filled  the  land  with  her 
scandals?  Who  but  beautiful  Agnes  Sorel 


King  or  Knave 

had  roused  Charles  the  Seventh  from  his  indo- 
lent pleasures  and  stirred  him  up  to  deeds  of 
valor,  so  that  she  was  gratefully  remembered, 
along  with  the  Maid  of  Orleans,  as  one  of  the 
deliverers  of  France  from  English  rule?  What 
lustre  had  the  Duchess  d'Etampes  shed  upon 
the  court,  when  she  reigned  as  its  star,  and 
made  it  the  most  brilliant  assemblage  of 
Europe !  Where  in  all  romance  could  be 
found  a  more  touching  story  than  that  of 
Henry's  lifelong  devotion  to  his  stately  Diana? 
And  if  a  woman  twenty-two  years  his  senior 
and  fast  slipping  into  old  age  could  hold  a 
man's  heart  to  the  day  of  his  death,  why  might 
not  she,  in  the  prime  of  her  girlhood  and  of  her 
regal  beauty,  establish  an  empire  over  her  lover 
which  should  last  as  long  as  life  itself —  all  of 
queenship  indeed  except  the  name,  but  better, 
inasmuch  as,  by  all  reports,  the  queen  gen- 
erally secures  the  title  without  her  consort's 
heart  and  has  only  the  cold  privilege  of  sharing 
his  throne,  whereas  the  mistress,  without  the 
burdensome  title,  has  her  lover's  heart  and  all 
the  power  that  goes  with  it? 

Still  the  glamour  of  the  royal  favorite's  position 
did  not  blind  her  to  its  uncertainties.  Well  as  it 
might  serve  her  temporarily,  she  looked  beyond 
it  to  the  secure  state  of  a  wife.  Might  it  not  be 
that  Providence  designed  her  to  found  a  new 
dynasty,  to  be  the  mother  of  a  line  of  Bourbon 
kings?  A  divorce  would  readily  open  the  road 
to  the  throne.  And  had  not  her  suitor  himself 
152 


King  or  Knave 

urged  his  willingness  to  secure  one  ?  Of  divorces 
in  general  she  had  no  favorable  opinion.  The 
example  of  the  English  Henry  had  created  a 
prejudice  in  her  mind  against  them.  She  was 
too  good  a  Catholic  to  approve  of  a  king's 
imperilling  his  soul  and  making  of  his  subjects 
an  heretical  sect,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  an  old  or 
an  ugly  wife.  But  this  was  a  quite  different  case. 
Marguerite's  dissoluteness  justified  a  divorce. 
She  would  insist  on  it.  The  throne  was  her  ulti- 
mate goal.  Nothing  less  would  content  her. 

There  were  difficulties,  she  knew.  The  Pope 
might  prove  obdurate.  There  might  be  years 
of  delay.  During  these  she  must  be  content  to 
occupy  the  more  brilliant,  because  more  du- 
bious, position.  Before  she  should  rule  as  a 
queen,  she  must  reign  as  a  favorite.  She  must 
join  the  long  succession  of  famous  mistresses 
whose  names  were  household  words.  Poets  had 
sung  them.  Their  faces  looked  out  from  many 
a  glorious  canvas.  Their  fair  forms  were  immor- 
talized in  many  a  noble  sculpture.  More  than 
one  Madonna,  gazing  down,  divinely  beautiful, 
from  wall  of  church  or  chapel,  owed  her  creator's 
inspiration  to  one  of  these  famous  mortals.  Of 
one  of  them  the  initials,  entwined  with  those  of 
royalty,  graced  many  a  lordly  palace. 

Indeed,  it  was  a  fair  question,  whether  the 
position  had  not  acquired  by  custom  an  official 
character  as  an  established  institution.  Had 
not  high  ecclesiastics  given  it  tacit  recognition 
by  their  open  friendship  ?  At  all  events,  what- 
153 


King  or  Knave 

ever  rigid  theologians  and  sour  Calvinists  might 
say,  usage  had  long  since  determined  on  what 
high  ground  the  institution  stood.  And  by  that 
judgment  she  would  be  content  to  abide. 

Debating  with  herself  these  high  questions, 
Gabrielle  had  quite  forgotten  her  passionate 
grief  of  an  hour  ago  and  had  attained  a  calm, 
even  cheerful  frame  of  mind. 

So  it  was  that,  by  a  singular  re-action  of  feel- 
ing, on  this  evening  when  Louis  was  under  the 
same  roof  with  herself,  and  when  she  had 
seemed  to  feel  most  keenly  the  bitterness  of 
separation  from  him,  she  first  definitely  faced 
the  thought  of  forming  a  union  with  his 
rival. 

Now  she  began  to  prepare  herself  for  sleep. 
Full  of  the  ideas  that  had  become  uppermost  in 
her  mind,  she  advanced  to  her  mirror  and,  with 
a  candle  in  either  hand,  took  a  critical  survey  of 
her  face.  She  scrutinized  each  feature  in  turn. 
She  looked  at  herself  reflected  in  full-face  and  in 
half-profile.  She  assumed  various  expressions, 
of  sadness,  of  mirth,  of  profound  thought,  of 
quick  intelligence,  of  lofty  scorn,  of  demure 
meekness.  She  held  a  candle  near  and  investi- 
gated the  transparency  of  her  delicate  ear- 
lobes.  She  examined  closely  her  teeth  of  daz- 
zling whiteness.  She  closed  her  lips  and 
inspected  critically  their  curve,  their  ruby  color, 
their  delicate  voluptuousness.  She  half-closed 
her  eyes  and  surveyed  the  long  fringes  of  the 
lashes.  She  opened  them  wide  and  peered  into 


King  or  Knave 

their  depths.  She  followed  with  careful  study 
the  graceful  arch  of  her  brows.  She  held  the 
candles  aloft  and  let  their  light  fall  full  on  the 
golden  mass  of  her  silky  hair. 

Apparently  the  result  of  this  inspection  was 
satisfactory,  for  at  its  close  she  contemplated 
herself  with  smiling  complacency. 

Then  a  mad  whim  seized  her.  She  laid  by 
one  garment  after  another.  She  let  down  her 
long,  shining  tresses.  Now  she  took  her  stand 
again  before  the  mirror  and  surveyed  the  whole 
beauteous  reflection  with  the  same  minute  exact- 
ness as  before. 

No  emissary  of  shah  or  sultan  buying  beauty 
for  his  exacting  master  could  have  been  more 
critical  than  this  girl  appraising  her  maiden 
charms. 

What  visions  floated  before  her !  She  knew 
Primaticio's  frescoes  which  endlessly  reproduce 
the  features  of  the  Duchess  d'fitampes.  She 
had  seen  Benvenuto  Cellini's  nude  Diana  clasp- 
ing her  royal  lover  represented  as  an  enam- 
ored stag.  What  painter,  what  sculptor  would 
worthily  perpetuate  a  greater  beauty  than  theirs 
for  admiring  posterity? 

At  last,  with  a  triumphant  smile  and  toss  of 
the  head,  she  seemed  to  say  to  herself  that  all 
was  well  with  her,  and  so  dowered  she  need  fear 
nothing  of  womankind. 

Now  she  put  on  her  night-robe  and,  kneeling 
at  her  dainty  prie-dieu,  said  her  prayers  with  the 
careful  exactness  which  was  her  pious  wont. 
'55 


King  or  Knave 

Then  she  crept  into  bed,  rosy  and  happy,  full  of 
bright  visions,  and  soon  was  lost  in  the  dream- 
less sleep  of  youth  and  innocence. 

The  next  morning  Bellegarde  was  puzzled 
beyond  measure  by  Gabrielle's  demeanor.  She 
studiously  avoided  his  eye.  She  assumed  a 
careless  manner,  in  strong  contrast  with  her  evi- 
dent distress  on  the  previous  day.  She  seemed 
determined  to  say  as  plainly  as  she  could  with- 
out words,  that  he  was  nothing  to  her.  Once, 
when  he  caught  her  eye  for  an  instant,  her  glance 
seemed  almost  mocking  in  its  levity. 

On  the  other  hand,  she  displayed  an  unex- 
pected interest  in  the  conversation.  It  turned 
chiefly  on  the  condition  of  public  affairs  and  the 
prospects  of  the  King.  Bellegarde  did  not  make 
light  of  the  difficulties  in  the  latter's  way.  He 
would  have  a  hard  and,  it  might  be,  a  long  road 
to  travel,  ere  he  could  obtain  full  recognition 
and  win  Paris  and  his  throne.  Already  the 
melting  away  of  his  army  had  compelled  him  to 
relinquish  the  siege  of  the  insurgent  city,  and 
the  bigoted  opposition  of  the  League  would 
render  his  task  herculean.  But  his  final  triumph 
he  never  doubted. 

To  all  this  Gabrielle  listened  with  eager  inter- 
est. Her  suitor,  happy  in  having  found  a  topic 
which  engaged  her  attention,  talked  with  fluency 
and  animation.  The  subject  was  one  on  which 
he  was  easily  eloquent,  for  he  was  discoursing 
of  the  most  romantic  figure  of  the  age,  the  idol 
of  adventurous  spirits,  knight-errant  and  king  in 
156 


King  or  Knave 

one.  And  it  put  him  on  his  mettle  to  have  for 
hearers  the  baron,  whose  good-will  he  was  so 
anxious  to  conciliate,  and  his  beautiful  daughter, 
following  the  conversation  with  marked,  even 
wistful,  interest. 

Once,  at  the  end  of  a  burst  of  enthusiasm,  he 
chanced  to  turn  suddenly  to  Gabrielle.  She 
had  been  listening  with  rapt  intensity.  Her 
lips  were  parted.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed. 
Her  delicate  nostrils  quivered.  In  her  eye  was 
a  strange  sparkle,  as  of  exultation.  The  instant 
that  it  met  his  glance,  it  fell,  and  she  resumed 
her  meal  with  something  like  confusion. 

Poor  Louis !  In  the  flash  when  their  eyes 
met,  and  he  noted  her  animation,  his  heart  leaped 
with  the  thought  that  at  last  he  had  touched  the 
deep  spring  of  her  emotions  and  found  the 
meeting-ground  of  their  natures.  The  next 
instant  her  quick  avoidance  of  his  glance  threw 
him  back  upon  himself,  perplexed  and  amazed. 
What  meant  this  sudden  flaming  up  of  excite- 
ment which  shrank  in  embarrassment  from  his 
eye?  The  circumstance  brought  home  to  him 
what  every  recent  experience  plainly  taught, 
that  the  Gabrielle  of  to-day  was  quite  other  than 
the  frank  companion  of  former  years.  Alas  !  it 
was  his  subject,  not  himself,  that  had  called  forth 
the  emotion  he  had  witnessed. 

It  must  be  that  in  Gabrielle  there  was  some 
deep  vein  of  excitability,  hitherto  unsuspected 
by  him,  of  hero-worship,  it  might  be.  Oh  !  that 
he  might  strike  it !  How  happy  would  he  be, 


King  or  Knave 

if  he  might  touch  that  hidden  chord  of  her 
nature  which  a  moment  ago  had  given  so  quick 
and  beautiful  response ;  and  if  himself,  not  his 
talk,  should  call  that  light  to  her  eye,  that  flush 
to  her  cheek ! 

To  let  himself  down  from  the  animated  strain 
in  which  he  had  been  talking,  Bellegarde  asked 
the  baron  a  commonplace  question. 

"  Have  you  ever  chanced,  Monsieur  le  Baron, 
to  meet  his  Majesty?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  other,  with  a  manner  that 
implied  some  not  very  agreeable  reminiscence ; 
"  I  knew  him,  when  he  was  but  a  youth,  just 
after  his  marriage.  Besides,  he  came  here  once, 
a  year  or  two  ago."  He  added  dryly,  "  I  did 
not  encourage  him  to  come  again."  Then,  as 
if  suddenly  remembering  something,  he  said 
quickly,  "  But,  of  course,  things  are  quite  differ- 
ent now." 

A  strange  shadow  rested  on  Gabrielle's  face. 
Was  it  annoyance  at  this  slighting  allusion  to 
her  hero? 

Now  the  hour  had  come  for  Louis's  departure. 
On  no  decent  pretext  could  he  prolong  his  stay. 
How  it  would  have  gladdened  his  heart,  to  see 
in  the  object  of  his  love  the  same  beautiful  and 
touching  distress  that  he  had  witnessed  yester- 
day !  But  how  strangely  was  everything  changed 
within  a  few  hours !  This  new  manner,  this 
studied  indifference,  passed  his  comprehension. 

She  continued  obdurate.  As  he,  poor  fellow, 
took  his  leave,  heavy-hearted,  not  a  word  or 
158 


King  or  Knave 

look  did  she  give  him  of  more  than  common 
courtesy. 

This  circumstance  her  father  noted  with  equal 
surprise  and  annoyance.  What  a  perverse  and 
wilful  creature  she  was  !  And  how  thoroughly 
womanlike!  So  long  as  he  had  shown  himself 
cold  towards  young  Louis,  she  had  sulked.  No 
sooner  did  he  relax,  than  she  whipped  around 
and  treated  the  boy  coolly.  He  was  piqued, 
and  from  that  time  forth  he  was  almost  Louis's 
ally. 


CHAPTER  THE  TWELFTH 

H oiv  Jean  Fourcade  receives  a  startling  commission. 

WE  parted  with  Jean  Fourcade  as  he  was 
bringing  home  to  his  master  the  joyful  tidings 
of  the  Armada's  destruction.  His  excursion 
into  England  and  his  thrilling  experiences  as  a 
volunteer  under  Sir  Francis  Drake  had  justified 
Henry's  hopes  by  being  of  great  benefit  in 
diverting  his  thoughts  and  relieving  the  intense 
strain  of  constant  brooding  on  his  great  sorrow. 

One  day  a  stranger  was  closeted  with  Henry 
for  some  time.  After  his  departure  he  called 
Fourcade  to  him.  He  seemed  disturbed. 

"  Jean,"  he  said,  "  I  think  of  sending  you  on  a 
secret  service.  You  acquitted  yourself  so  hand- 
somely of  your  errand  to  England  that  I  am  dis- 
posed to  give  you  another  commission,  one  that 
will  require  even  more  circumspection.  What 
say  you  to  taking  a  journey  into  Auvergne?" 

Fourcade  started  violently.  Auvergne  was 
associated  with  his  sweetest  and  saddest  memo- 
ries. It  was  in  the  mountains  of  Auvergne  that 
Sophie  and  he  had  passed  that  ever-memorable 
night ! 

"  Ventre-saint-gris  !  What  is  there  so  terrible 
in  Auvergne  that  you  seem  not  less  affrighted 
1 60 


King  or  Knave 

than  if  I  had  talked  of  sending  you  to  the  Cham 
of  Tartary  ?  The  matter  is  simple  enough,  but  it 
needs  a  man  whom  I  can  trust  absolutely,  a  dis- 
creet man  who  will  keep  his  eyes  wide  open  and 
his  mouth  shut,  not  in  my  interest  only,  but  in 
his  own  as  well,  for  let  him  wag  his  tongue  too 
freely,  and  he  will  soon  cease  to  wag  it  at  all. 
The  place,  as  I  have  just  now  learned,  is  a  nest 
of  Leaguers.  You  must  know,  first,  that  your 
former  queen,  my  wife,  is  there."  This  he  said 
with  a  grimace. 

Fourcade  made  a  gesture  of  astonishment. 
"  When  I  last  heard  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre, 
Sire,  she  was  in  her  own  territory  at  Agen." 

"  Oh !  that  is  ancient  history.  She  might, 
however,  have  ruled  there  in  peace  to  her  death, 
had  she  not  by  exorbitant  impositions  driven  the 
citizens  to  rise  against  her.  She  took  flight, 
escaping  on  horseback  behind  one  Lignerac, 
who  took  her  to  the  castle  of  Carlat.  But  the 
Governor  of  Auvergne,  the  Marquis  de  Canillac, 
thought  he  would  have  a  rich  prize,  if  he  had 
her  in  his  keeping.  So  what  does  he  but  he 
swoops  down  upon  Carlat  and  carries  her  off  a 
prisoner  to  his  own  castle  of  Usson?  Now, 
pardieu !  comes  the  joke.  What  does  Margot 
but  she  turns  her  full  battery  upon  Canillac  and 
captivates  him?  Meanwhile  she  secretly  com- 
municates with  Guise,  who,  on  a  given  day, 
sends  her  a  detachment  from  Orleans.  Then, 
while  Canillac  is  asleep,  she  admits  the  soldiers 
and  seizes  the  castle.  Canillac  awakes  to  find 
ii  161 


King  or  Knave 

the  original  situation  reversed.  It  is  he  who  is 
prisoner,  in  his  own  castle.  What  say  you  to 
that?" 

Fourcade  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  smiled. 

"  This  feminine  coup  d'etat,"  continued  Henry, 
"  took  place  some  year  and  a  half  ago.  I  have 
not  concerned  myself  about  it,  but  have  been  well 
content  to  let  her  rule  her  little  principality  of 
Usson,  with  Canillac  for  major-domo,  provided 
she  would  leave  my  affairs  alone.  But  I  have 
just  now  received  tidings  which  make  me  suspect 
mischief  brewing  in  that  quarter,  an  uprising,  it 
may  be,  in  the  interest  of  the  League.  She  is 
quite  capable  of  it.  Since  I  have  wholly  severed 
myself  from  her,  it  would  gratify  her  vanity  to 
be  the  guiding  spirit  of  some  movement  to 
further  the  cause  of  the  Holy  Union.  She  has 
a  genius  for  petty  intrigue,  —  for  government, 
she  fancies,  —  by  virtue  of  her  Valois  blood. 
According  to  report,  suspicious  persons  are 
assembling  at  Usson.  I  must  have  an  observer 
on  the  spot,  one  who  will  ascertain  and  inform 
me  of  the  real  facts." 

"  Like  mistress,  like  maid,  Sire.  What  can 
you  tell  me  of  Mademoiselle  de  Rebours?" 

"Oh!  that  creature,  par  exemple?  Well, 
thank  God,  she  has  disappeared.  For  a  time 
after  her  mistress  was  taken  to  Carlat,  she  flitted 
back  and  forth,  still  hoping,  it  seemed,  to  regain 
her  old  place  with  me.  But,  pardieu !  I  would 
as  willingly  take  the  Black  Death  for  a  chere 
amie.  During  that  time  you  met  her  at  Mon- 
162 


King  or  Knave 

tauban,  on  the  night  that  proved  so  disastrous 
to  you.  Did  you  dream  who  was  expected, 
when  you  arrived?  I  will  tell  you.  When  the 
bugles  were  sounding  to  mount  for  the  march, 
and  my  foot  was  in  the  stirrup,  a  perfumed  billet, 
of  inviting  phraseology,  was  handed  to  me,  un- 
signed, but  I  knew  from  whom  it  came,  for  it 
had  been  whispered  to  me  that  she  was  there- 
about. It  was  her  last  desperate  throw.  When 
you  knocked  at  the  inn,  at  midnight,  and  she 
opened  the  door,  had  I  stood  before  her,  she 
would  have  been  the  happiest  woman  in  France. 
No  wonder  that  she  played  you  that  devilish 
trick,  to  vent  her  spite." 

Fourcade's  brow  lowered,  as  his  mind  re- 
verted to  that  dark  time.  How  persistently 
Fate  seemed  to  make  him  a  scapegoat  for  his 
master ! 

"And  then,  Sire?"  he  asked  simply. 

"  There  is  little  more  to  tell.  After  that  last 
failure  she  seemed  to  abandon  all  hope.  For  a 
time  she  hung  about,  for  no  other  purpose, 
apparently,  than  that  of  enjoying  the  specta- 
cle of  your  misery.  Then,  shortly  after  I  had 
sent  you  away  to  your  home,  she  went  to  the 
Grand  Chamberlain  and  asked  leave,  which, 
God  knows,  was  gladly  enough  given,  to  with- 
draw from  the  court  and  live  in  retirement 
with  an  aunt,  somewhere  in  Brittany,  I  believe. 
That  ends  her  story,  and  God  grant  we  may 
never  see  her  more !  " 

"  So  say  not  I,  Sire." 

163 


King  or  Knave 

"  How?    What  mean  you  ?    That  she-devil ! " 

"  True.  But  remember,  Sire,  that  fiend  car- 
ries the  key  of  my  happiness  and  honor  in  her 
bosom.  She  alone  of  all  living  beings  can  clear 
me  from  shame  and  restore  my  wife  to  me. 
And,  God  help  me !  while  she  walks  the  earth, 
I  shall  never  rest  till  she  avows  her  crime  and 
undoes  its  consequences.  To  accomplish  that 
end  I  devote  my  life." 

"  Amen,  say  I.  But  how,  my  boy?  I  would 
not  discourage  you.  But  you  have  already 
tried  every  resource.  Every  appeal  to  her  has 
proved  vain.  There  is  in  her  neither  justice 
to  respond  to  reason,  nor  mercy  to  be  moved 
by  your  misery.  Indeed,  I  doubt  not  that,  in 
gloating  over  your  wretchedness,  she  feels  that 
she  is  taking  revenge  on  me." 

"Do  you  know  nothing  more  certain,  Sire, 
of  her  whereabouts  than  what  you  have  men- 
tioned?" 

"  Only  as  I  have  told  you.  But  hold  !  I  shall 
write  to  the  Grand  Chamberlain  and  inquire 
of  him.  It  may  be  that  he  knows  definitely 
whither  she  went.  And  I  shall  let  you  know 
at  the  earliest  possible  day." 

There  was  some  further  talk  between  them 
as  to  the  details  of  Fourcade's  mission.  The 
next  day  he  took  the  road  for  Usson. 


164 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTEENTH 

How  Jean  Fourcade  finds  a  mortal  enemy  whose  presence 
is  more  precious  than  the  dearest  friend 's. 

FOURCADE  found  at  Usson  a  secluded  strong- 
hold dominating  the  surrounding  country,  a  fit 
abode  for  the  robber-lords  who,  from  generation 
to  generation,  had  there  exercised  despotic  sway 
over  an  abject  peasantry. 

The  top  of  a  considerable  hill,  of  the  conical 
shape  so  common  in  that  once  volcanic  region, 
was  occupied  by  the  castle,  while  up  its  steep 
sides  straggled  the  houses  of  the  village,  all 
striving,  as  it  seemed,  to  climb  as  close  as 
possible  under  the  shelter  of  the  frowning  bat- 
tlements. Outside  the  walls  the  only  building 
of  any  note  was  a  somewhat  striking  church, 
Romanesque  in  style,  perched  on  a  small  pla- 
teau and  overlooking  the  red-tiled  roofs  of  the 
burghers.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  there  brawled 
over  a  stony  bed  a  swift  brook,  spanned  by  a 
bridge  of  a  single  arch.  Beyond  it  lay  a  nar- 
row meadow,  bordered  by  a  dense  wood  cloth- 
ing a  gentle  slope. 

Wearing  a  disguise  similar  to  that  which  he 

wore    when,   with    Hugue"nin,    he   pursued    the 

abductors  of  Sophie,  Fourcade  had  no  fear  of 

being  recognized  by  his  former  mistress  or  any 

165 


King  or  Knave 

of  her  retinue,  should  he  chance  to  encounter 
them.  He  was  soon  established  in  a  room  of 
the  village-inn  overlooking  the  straggling  road 
which  led  up  to  the  castle-gate.  The  landlord, 
overjoyed  to  welcome  a  guest  who  announced 
that  his  stay  might  be  of  considerable  length, 
was  not  inclined  to  be  inquisitive  and  was  satis- 
fied with  being  told  that  the  new-comer  was  a 
merchant  of  Orleans  who  had  affairs  with  a 
gentleman  of  that  region. 

After  a  leisurely  stroll  through  the  village, 
Fourcade  began  a  discreet  inquiry  into  the 
habits  of  the  castle-folk. 

When  he  approached  the  subject,  the  land- 
lord closed  his  mouth  significantly  and  shook 
his  head.  Words  could  not  have  said  more 
plainly,  "  They  are  a  bad  lot.  But  you  won't 
hear  me  say  a  word  about  them."  With  good 
reason  he  stood  in  awe  of  these  powerful  neigh- 
bors. Policy,  too,  dictated  silence,  for  the  sol- 
diers and  the  lower  sort  of  the  castle-folk  were 
wont  to  hold  many  a  carouse  under  his  roof. 
True,  they  drank  more  than  they  paid  for,  and 
they  scandalized  his  family  by  their  boisterous 
oaths  and  brawling  and  their  ribald  songs.  But 
what  would  you  have?  A  man  must  lie  in  his 
bed  as  he  finds  it. 

On  the  second  day  after  his  arrival,  Fourcade 
saw  a  gay  cavalcade  come  trooping  down  the 
hill  from  the  castle.  At  the  side  of  Marguerite 
rode  the  enslaved  Canillac.  Behind  her  was  a 
person  the  sight  of  whom  gripped  his  heart. 
166 


King  or  Knave 

There,  in  all  the  insolence  of  her  wanton 
beauty,  rode  Mademoiselle  de  Rebours  !  Time 
had  dealt  lightly  with  her,  and  none  who  knew 
not  her  story,  seeing  the  fair,  smooth  face,  the 
bright  eyes,  the  mouth  curved  disdainfully,  the 
mass  of  shining  hair,  the  supple  figure,  royally 
habited  and  sitting  her  horse  with  the  easy 
grace  of  a  skilled  rider,  would  have  guessed  the 
years  of  infamy  that  lay  behind  her. 

At  her  side  rode  a  gallant  of  extremely  youth- 
ful appearance,  his  boyish  face  adorned  with  a 
nascent  mustache,  which  his  hand  frequently 
caressed.  The  adoring  looks  and  passionate 
utterances  of  this  young  admirer  were  generously 
repaid  with  bewitching  glances  which  seemed 
to  fill  him  with  ecstasy.  The  boy  betrayed  in 
all  his  mien  the  bliss  of  the  happy  lover. 

With  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  and  merry 
laughter  the  gay  castle-folk  swept  by,  leaving 
Fourcade  gasping  and  white.  By  what  inex- 
plicable turn  of  Fortune's  wheel  had  he  thus 
unexpectedly  been  brought  face  to  face  with  this 
woman  who  held  his  fate  in  her  hand  ?  Was  it 
a  sign  that  Providence,  so  long  pitiless  in  its 
dealings,  was  at  last  opening  the  way  to  make 
amends  for  the  past? 

When  he  recovered  from  the  first  surprise  of 
his  discovery,  Mademoiselle  de  Rebours's  pres- 
ence there  seemed  to  him  most  natural.  To  a 
woman  of  her  disposition  and  habits  any  other 
life  than  that  of  a  court  would  be  tame  and 
spiritless.  And  where  could  she  find  occupa- 
167 


King  or  Knave 

tion  so  congenial  as  that  of  attendance  on  the 
mistress  who  had  moulded  her?  Above  all,  if 
Usson  had  become  a  centre  of  political  intrigue, 
what  alliance  was  more  fitting  than  that  of  the 
disgraced  wife  and  the  discarded  favorite  against 
the  man  who,  in  their  estimation,  had  wronged 
both? 

But  who  was  this  enamored  cavalier,  whose 
boyish  face  put  him  in  so  marked  contrast  with 
the  blas6  habituds  of  Marguerite's  petty  court? 
Fourcade  set  himself  to  find  out  by  cautious 
inquiry.  Jests  and  anecdotes  which  had  filtered 
down  through  the  castle-servants  to  the  villagers, 
told  the  tale. 

Alcide  de  TreVille  was  a  new-comer  at  Usson. 
Born  of  an  old  Picard  family,  he  had  been 
reared  in  great  retirement  on  the  paternal 
estate,  chiefly  in  the  company  of  staid  aunts 
and  demure  sisters.  To  him  the  world  was  a 
great  terra  incognita,  into  which  he  made  his 
first  sally,  when  he  bade  adieu  to  his  tutor  and 
rode  forth  to  make  a  visit  to  his  maternal  uncle, 
the  Marquis  de  Canillac,  the  great  man  of  the 
family,  known  in  the  remote  Picard  manor- 
house  only  as  the  illustrious  Governor  of 
Auvergne,  and  by  no  means  as  the  ignominious 
bondman  of  his  alleged  prisoner. 

Into  this  atmosphere,  reeking  with  shameful 
chicanery  and  brazen  intrigue,  the  poor  boy 
brought  a  vast  fund  of  innocence,  along  with 
warm  blood  in  his  veins,  for  he  came  of  a  race 
of  lovers,  and  an  eager  desire  to  taste  the  cup  of 
1 68 


King  or  Knave 

life's  pleasures.  Nothing  could  have  been  more 
exhilarating  than  the  exchange  of  his  tutor  and 
books  by  day,  with  formal  rides  and  an  occa- 
sional well-regulated  hare-hunt,  and  in  the  even- 
ing a  game  of  dominoes  with  Louise  or  Julie, 
for  the  delightful  jollity  of  the  life  at  Usson. 
Was  there  ever  so  gracious  and  affable  a  lady  as 
the  Queen  of  Navarre  ?  Where  in  all  the  world 
could  one  find  so  charming  and  delightful 
people  as  the  group  of  noble  gentlemen  and 
ladies  surrounding  her,  all  living  together  like 
one  family,  amid  constant  sallies  of  wit  and 
mirth,  wine  and  song,  the  merry  dance  and 
cards  filling  all  the  hours  of  waking? 

But  Mademoiselle  de  Rebours  !  What  words 
could  he  find  to  do  justice  to  her  glorious 
image?  What  mysterious  depths  of  his  being 
were  thrilled  by  the  lingering  glances  of  those 
bright  eyes,  bent  on  him  so  softly !  Surely, 
never  had  dawned  on  poet's  dream  a  creature  so 
radiant  with  youth  and  beauty  and  goodness,  so 
frank,  so  kind. 

No  sooner  had  this  young  innocent  made  his 
appearance  at  Usson  than  he  became  the  centre 
of  a  deep  interest  of  which  he  little  dreamed. 
To  Angelique  de  Rebours  what  an  opportunity 
presented  itself  of  rehabilitating  her  tarnished 
name  by  a  marriage  with  a  handsome  and  well- 
born youth,  and  rebuilding  her  wrecked  fortunes 
on  the  secure  foundation  of  holy  matrimony ! 
She  set  herself  at  once  to  fascinating  him. 
Alas !  she  knew  but  too  well  how  to  counterfeit 
169 


King  or  Knave 

a  girlish  innocence  which  she  believed  herself  to 
despise,  but  whose  possessors  she  deeply  envied. 
Who  will  say  that  even  in  that  heart,  seared  by 
passion  and  corrupted  by  intrigue,  there  was  not 
some  longing  for  a  wholesomer,  sweeter  life,  and 
that  it  did  not  yearn  towards  that  unsuspecting 
boy,  as  the  only  being  who  might  restore  her  to 
a  true  womanhood,  of  which  she  had  only  faint 
glimpses,  indistinct  among  the  darker  memories 
of  her  later  years,  even  as,  men  say,  Breton 
fishermen  in  fine  weather  dimly  descry,  beneath 
the  heaving  waters  of  the  Channel,  the  towers 
of  a  long-forgotten  city? 

With  her  maid  of  honor's  unique  love-affair 
Marguerite's  sympathy  leaped  in  ready  re- 
sponse. To  see  her  dear  Ange"lique  hand- 
somely established  in  marriage  was  an  object 
which  commended  itself  to  her  as  altogether 
worthy. 

There  was  none  to  thwart  the  devilish  scheme. 
Canillac,  himself  sold  into  slavery,  durst  not 
interfere  in  his  nephew's  behalf.  As  for  the 
rest,  it  seemed  to  them  an  incomparable  joke, 
and  they  would  not  for  worlds  disturb  the 
progress  of  the  idyllic  love-affair,  in  which  their 
cherished  companion  acted  the  ingenue  with  so 
charming  taste.  From  Marguerite's  select  circle 
of  lost  women  and  infamous  men  the  actress 
received  ample  encouragement  in  sly  winks, 
nods  and  smiles.  The  progress  of  this  affair,  of 
a  kind  so  novel  at  Usson,  became  the  absorbing 
topic  of  its  inmates.  Jests  and  innuendoes 
170 


King  or  Knave 

flowed  in  a  constant  stream.  Bets  were  freely 
offered  and  taken  as  to  the  length  of  time  which 
would  be  needed  to  bring  the  comedy  to  the 
final  scene  of  priestly  benediction.  Even  var- 
lets  and  scullions  watched  the  game  with  glee, 
and  lady's  maids  made  wagers  with  their  beaux 
on  the  result.  In  hall  and  kitchen  and  guard- 
room the  castle's  comedy  was  the  common 
talk. 

The  one  person  who  might  have  given  young 
Treville  a  hint  of  this  state  of  affairs,  his  Picard 
servant,  was  bound  to  silence,  having  early  sur- 
rendered to  the  fascinations  of  a  lady's  maid 
opportunely  detailed  for  that  work  by  Mar- 
guerite. She,  like  a  prudent  general,  left  no 
point  unguarded,  and  in  this  labor  of  love  was 
aided  by  her  experience  in  former  years,  when 
she  helped  to  sway  the  fortunes  of  the  realm 
by  the  timely  use  of  subservient  beauty.  The 
woman  who  had  instigated  the  Lovers'  War 
found  no  difficulty  in  dealing  with  a  valet. 

This  spectacle  of  a  whole  community  leagued 
in  a  conspiracy  to  mate  an  unsuspecting  boy 
with  a  woman  of  infamous  career  made  Four- 
cade's  blood  boil,  and  he  vowed  to  himself  that 
he  would  thwart  the  scheme,  at  whatever  cost. 
He  had  now  a  double  end  to  work  for,  and  all 
his  energies  were  roused  to  activity.  What  was 
this  boy  to  him?  he  asked  himself.  Nothing. 
Yet  there  was  in  him  that  which  would  not  let 
him  stand  by  idle  and  see  this  thing  done. 
Alone  of  all  those  who  were  outside  of  the  con- 
171 


King  or  Knave 

spiracy  he  possessed  the  knowledge  which  could 
defeat  it.  Not  to  use  that  knowledge  would  be 
not  less  cowardly  than  if  a  strong  swimmer, 
standing  on  a  river-bank  among  people  unable 
to  swim,  should  see  a  child  drown  helplessly, 
while  he  should  make  no  effort  to  save  it. 

How  much  this  real  and  righteous  indignation 
of  Fourcade  was  mingled  with  the  desire  to  blast 
the  schemes  of  the  woman  who  had  stabbed  his 
wife's  trusting  heart  and  wrecked  his  happiness, 
let  us  not  too  closely  inquire.  He  was  human, 
and  with  that  word  all  is  said. 

By  one  and  the  same  stroke  to  save  this 
infatuated  youth  from  ruin  and  to  compel  the 
destroyer  of  his  own  home  to  confess  her  guilt 
and  furnish  him  with  proofs  of  it,  — this  was  the 
problem  which  confronted  him.  How  was  it  to 
be  solved? 


172 


CHAPTER  THE  FOURTEENTH 

ffotv,  Gabrielle  walking  in  the  wood  and  dreaming  of  the 
Fleur-de-lis,  it  suddenly  appears  and  affrights  her. 

IN  the  frame  of  mind  which  she  had  reached 
Gabrielle  found  great  peace.  Any  rising  com- 
punctions on  the  score  of  Louis  she  silenced  by 
recurring  to  the  notions  of  self-sacrifice  and  of 
a  force  external  to  herself.  Again  and  again 
she  said  to  herself  that  she  had  no  choice,  that 
her  destiny  was  sweeping  her  to  a  fixed  goal 
which  she  now  habitually  recognized  in  her 
thought.  The  various  steps  in  her  suitor's  mar- 
vellous rise,  the  fact  of  her  brother's  having 
become  dependent  on  him  for  employment  and 
advancement,  and  the  promise  of  favor  already 
made  to  him,  all  seemed  to  make  it  clear  that 
Providence  designed  her  as  the  instrument  of 
the  family's  restoration. 

She  rarely  now  thought  of  Bellegarde.  She 
had  done,  she  said,  with  sentiment ;  it  was  folly 
for  a  girl  situated  as  she  was  to  listen  to  the 
promptings  of  a  fond  heart  She  had  a  career 
to  fulfil,  and  she  must  not  swerve  from  it. 

What  now  occupied  her  mind  were  not  empty 
regrets  of  the  past,  but  rosy  visions  of  the  future. 
Before  the  eye  of  her  imagination  continually 


King  or  Knave 

floated  scenes  in  which  she  figured  as  the 
recognized  companion  of  the  King  and  repeated 
in  her  own  person  the  experiences  of  the 
famous  beauties  whose  story  had  so  powerfully 
impressed  her  fancy.  She  saw  herself  the  centre 
of  brilliant  pageants,  while  royalty  bowed  over 
her  and  paid  homage  to  her  charms.  Imagina- 
tion pictured  her  surrounded  by  obsequious 
courtiers,  by  cringing  place-seekers  fawning  for 
her  favor,  by  ambassadors  eager  for  her  smiles, 
by  great  churchmen  zealous  for  her  alliance  in 
promoting  the  interests  of  the  heavenly  king- 
dom. Proud  women,  secretly  envious,  paid 
obeisance  to  her  supremacy  in  love  and  in  the 
arts  by  which  men  are  swayed  and  the  fortunes 
of  kingdoms  are  moulded. 

And  withal,  living  in  this  dream-land,  she 
fancied  herself  intensely  practical,  forever  done 
with  sentiment  and  wedded  for  all  time  to  the 
most  prosaic  view  of  life. 

One  morning  she  sauntered  in  the  forest. 
Lisette  had  suggested  a  walk,  and  in  her  dreamy 
mood  she  had  very  willingly  fallen  in  with  the 
proposal.  As  she  sauntered  idly  beneath  the 
trees,  in  the  soft  languor  of  the  summer  air, 
the  very  atmosphere  seemed  full  of  suggestions 
of  self-abandonment  to  voluptuous  ease.  Her 
blood  even,  infected,  as  it  seemed,  with  nature's 
naive  unmorality,  carried  to  the  brain  impulses 
to  the  freedom  of  the  savage. 

What  gave  particular  form  to  her  meditations 
on  this  morning  was  a  letter  lately  received. 
174 


King  or  Knave 

Plainly  it  had  been  written  since  the  late  won- 
derful change  in  the  writer's  position  and  pros- 
pects. But  it  was  no  less  ardent  than  its 
predecessors.  Evidently  good  fortune  had 
abated  nothing  of  his  passion,  if  it  had  not 
fed  it  with  fresh  fuel. 

Coming  at  such  a  juncture,  this  letter  had 
made  a  deep  impression  on  her.  She  had  even 
seriously  debated  with  herself  answering  it. 
Her  difficulty  lay  in  so  replying  as  not  to 
betray  too  much  interest.  That  would  be  bad 
policy.  On  the  other  hand,  she  was  loth  to 
run  the  risk  of  discouraging  the  writer  by  an 
appearance  of  too  great  indifference.  He  men- 
tioned the  possibility  of  seeing  her  ere  long. 
If  he  should  come,  how  should  she  bear  her- 
self towards  him?  How  should  she  hold  the 
balance  even  between  too  great  encouragement 
and  seeming  apathy?  How  should  a  well-born 
girl  bear  herself  towards  her  sovereign  sighing 
at  her  feet? 

Now  she  was  amid  the  very  scenes  associated 
with  him.  Under  these  trees,  through  these 
glades,  they  had  strolled  together,  a  little  more 
than  a  year  ago.  How  naturally  they  recalled 
his  ardent  words  and  the  indubitable  fascina- 
tion of  his  presence  !  His  voice,  so  musical  in 
love-making,  almost  seemed  to  be  wafted  by 
her  in  the  languorous  movement  of  the  summer 
air. 

At  a  sudden  turn  in  the  path,  Henry  the 
Fourth  stood  before  her. 


King  or  Knave 

She  started  violently,  and  the  blood  rushed 
to  her  temples.  Lisette  screamed  and  seemed 
on  the  point  of  fainting. 

What  in  some  degree  restored  Gabrielle's 
equilibrium  was,  that  she  instinctively  noticed 
Henry's  unchanged  appearance.  The  King  of 
France  assumed  no  more  of  state  in  dress  or 
manner  than  the  picturesque  Bearnais. 

"  Pardon  me  this  intrusion,  Mademoiselle," 
he  said,  bowing  low.  "  There  was  no  other 
way  in  which  I  could  secure  an  interview  with 
you,  and  my  heart,"  laying  his  hand  over  that 
organ  and  again  bowing  low,  "would  not  let 
me  remain  longer  away  from  you." 

"Your  coming  is  indeed — unexpected,  Mon- 
sieur,—  pardon  me,  —  your  Majesty,"  stam- 
mered Gabrielle.  The  sudden  appearance  of 
the  man  who  had  become  a  so  important  figure 
in  her  thoughts  affected  her  strangely.  There 
was  something  of  the  effect  of  magic  about  it. 

Henry  quickly  detected  her  embarrassment 
and  drew  from  it  a  favorable  augury.  Where 
were  the  caustic  jest,  the  half-contemptuous 
manner  of  their  first  meeting?  The  confusion 
which  he  witnessed  clearly  was  the  result  of  self- 
consciousness.  And  what  progress  it  marked 
from  the  girl  laughing  at  him  and  making  sport 
of  his  proposals !  He  very  well  understood 
that  this  embarrassment  would  never  have  been 
produced  by  his  sudden  appearance,  if  he  had 
not  reached  the  point  of  filling  a  large  place  in 
her  thoughts.  Be  the  cause  what  it  might, 
176 


King  or  Knave 

something  had  wrought  an  alteration  in  her 
quite  as  great  as  that  of  his  fortunes.  And  he 
shrewdly  connected  the  two  facts  in  the  way 
of  cause  and  effect. 

"But  though  unexpected,  not  unwelcome, 
let  me  hope,  beautiful  Gabrielle,"  said  he  in 
reply  to  her  first  words,  with  a  sparkle  in  his 
eye,  and  passing  quickly  from  his  first  deferen- 
tial manner  to  the  easy  self-confidence  of  one 
who  is  secure  of  his  game. 

"  That  will  be  as  it  may  prove,  your  Majesty," 
said  Gabrielle  demurely,  trying  to  rally  her 
courage  and  treat  him  with  composure.  But 
her  old  audacity  had  deserted  her,  and  she  was 
pitiably  at  sea.  The  other  was  amused  at  her 
discomfiture. 

"  Ah !  a  thousand  thanks,  ma  belle,  for  the 
implied  permission  to  make  myself  agreeable," 
he  replied.  And  he  forthwith  set  himself  to  do 
as  he  said,  with  such  bonhommie  that  Gabrielle 
soon  found  herself  gliding  easily  into  conver- 
sation. 

When  Henry  had  accomplished  so  much,  he 
said,  "  Your  maid  might  remain  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, might  she  not,  Mademoiselle?  I  crave 
the  privilege  of  talking  with  you  alone." 

"Lisette,  go  and  sit  on  yonder  fallen  tree," 
commanded  her  young  mistress. 

The    conversation    now   flowed    freely,    and 

Gabrielle   was   drawn  on  to  talk  quite   at  her 

ease.     She  certainly  was  conscious  of  a  growing 

liking  for  him.    What  a  charm  there  was  in  that 

12  I77 


King  or  Knave 

subtle  quality  which  made  him  irresistible,  when 
he  set  himself  seriously  to  winning  ! 

She  found  herself  looking  into  his  face  and 
listening  to  the  free  flow  of  his  talk,  as  merry  jest 
and  shrewd  remark  followed  one  another  in  quick 
succession,  absolutely  free  from  embarrassment 
and  with  a  keen  sense  of  enjoyment. 

In  short,  Gabrielle  was  coming  under  the 
spell,  if  not  of  love,  certainly  of  a  strong  liking. 
So  much  had  her  feeling  towards  him  grown 
warmer  that  she  felt  real  pleasure  in  taking  ad- 
vantage of  a  pause  to  say,  "  Let  me  thank  you, 
Sire,  for  your  great  kindness  to  my  brother  and 
your  generous  assurance  of  continued  favor. 
His  well-being  lies  very  close  to  my  heart ;  and 
whoever  does  him  a  kindness  has  the  strongest 
claim  on  my  gratitude." 

In  the  course  of  the  conversation  Bellegarde 
was  mentioned  as  the  messenger  who  had 
brought  the  tidings  of  the  late  King's  death 
and  the  accession  of  the  first  of  the  Bourbons. 
At  the  mention  of  this  name  Henry  looked  at 
her  keenly  and  asked,  "  Is  he  a  friend  of  yours, 
this  young  Monsieur  de  Bellegarde?" 

"We  have  been  friends  since  childhood,  Sire, 
and  he  is  still  my  brother's  dearest  comrade," 
she  replied  evasively  and  with  a  vain  attempt  to 
look  indifferent. 

"  My  faith  !  that  is  an  ideal  friendship  which 

gives  the  privilege  of  visiting  the  home  of  the 

cherished   comrade   during   his   absence,"  said 

Henry  laughing.      Then  he  added  with  keen, 

178 


King  or  Knave 

but  good-humored  scrutiny  of  her  face,  "  Ap- 
parently Monsieur  de  Bellegarde's  affectionate 
interest  includes  all  the  members  of  the  family." 

Gabrielle  blushed  under  the  search  of  those 
penetrating  eyes,  but  said  nothing.  Then,  with 
a  little  effort,  she  tossed  her  head,  as  if  to  inti- 
mate that  the  person  under  discussion  was  noth- 
ing to  her. 

Henry  noted  the  movement,  as  he  had  already 
noted  her  self-consciousness,  and  drew  his  own 
conclusion,  which  was  not  far  from  the  truth. 

Before  they  parted,  it  was  arranged  that  they 
should  meet  on  the  next  day.  He  had  given 
Gabrielle  to  understand  that  he  was  incognito  at 
his  alleged  old  stopping  place,  Eauxvertes.  It 
is  scarcely  necessary  to  remark  that  this  state- 
ment was  a  bit  of  pure  fiction.  The  fact  was, 
that  the  King  of  France  was  lodged  in  his  old 
room  in  the  ruined  wing  of  the  chateau. 

On  the  day  preceding  his  arrival  a  mysterious 
pedler  had  appeared  at  the  kitchen  door.  At 
an  opportune  moment  he  had  whispered  to 
Diana  that  "  a  former  guest  of  the  Countess 
Anne  would  come  again,  to  ask  her  hospitality, 
and  would  be  found,  on  the  following  evening, 
at  the  old  trysting-place." 

Great  was  the  excitement  of  the  two  women, 
when  Diana  repeated  this  message  to  Lisette. 
There  were  mysterious  whisperings  and  much 
secret  bustling  back  and  forth,  as  they  made  the 
necessary  preparations  for  entertaining  their 
guest. 

179 


King  or  Knave 

On  the  next  evening  the  two  confederates 
slipped  out  to  the  glade  where,  on  the  former 
occasion,  they  had  met  their  guest.  They  ap- 
proached the  spot  somewhat  nervously.  Now 
that  he  was  King,  how  would  he  treat  them? 
What  was  the  proper  salutation  for  their  sov- 
ereign ? 

As  they  neared  the  glade,  they  descried  a 
figure  stretched  at  full  length  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree.  Their  questionings  were  immediately  set 
at  rest,  for  their  visitor  instantly  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  grasped  each  of  them  by  the  hand  with 
genuine  cordiality. 

"  Ah,  mes  belles !  How  glad  I  am  to  see 
you  !  And  how  charming  you  look  !  " 

In  a  few  minutes  the  two  women  were  quite 
at  their  ease  and  chatting  with  their  sovereign 
in  the  same  familiar  way  as  when  they  were 
entertaining  the  genial  B^arnais.  They  found 
him  quite  unchanged  by  royal  honors,  the  same 
easy,  good  fellow  who  had  at  first  won  their 
hearts.  The  time  seemed  all  too  short;  for 
they  durst  not  tarry  long,  lest  their  absence 
should  be  remarked. 

Soon  Henry  found  himself  cosily  lodged  in 
the  old  room,  so  full  of  pleasant  memories  con- 
trasting with  its  gloomy  appearance.  He  felt 
quite  at  home  there.  Nor  were  the  fair  host- 
esses wanting  in  any  attention  which  might  add 
to  their  guest's  well-being.  As  loyal  subjects, 
they  felt  that  nothing  could  be  too  good  for 
him.  Besides,  as  a  royal  good  fellow,  an  un- 
180 


King  or  Knave 

surpassed  story-teller,  and  at  heart  a  man  of  the 
people,  he  had  commanding  claims  to  all  that 
they  could  possibly  do.  The  best  of  food  and 
drink  that  the  larder  and  the  cellar  of  the  chateau 
could  afford  were  laid  before  him.  Messieurs 
Barbezoux  and  Gaspard  would  have  raged,  could 
they  have  witnessed  the  devotion  of  their  ladies 
to  the  guest  of  honor ;  and  it  is  doubtful  whether 
even  the  baron,  stout  royalist  as  he  was,  would 
have  approved  of  the  lavish  display  of  his  best 
viands  and  his  choicest  wines,  surreptitiously 
obtained,  which  the  women  made  for  the  honor 
of  the  family. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  Lisette  slipped 
into  the  room,  carrying  a  bundle  in  her  left 
arm. 

"  I  have  something  to  show  to  your  Majesty," 
she  said.  Therewith  she  whisked  away  a  light 
covering  and  displayed  the  features  of  a  plump 
infant  nestling  in  her  arms  and  with  large  eyes, 
full  of  wonder,  staring  at  him. 

Henry  gave  a  low  whistle,  lifted  his  eye- 
brows, and  looked  inquiringly  into  the  maid's 
face. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  married,  your  Majesty,"  she  said, 
blushing  crimson  and  lowering  her  gaze. 

"  Ah,  indeed  !     And  to  whom?  " 

"  Gaspard  is  my  husband." 

"  Happy  Gaspard  !  And  how  long  since,  ma 
belle?" 

"We  were  married  just  after  —  your  High- 
ness—  pardon  me,  —  your  Majesty  went  away," 
181 


King  or  Knave 

she  replied,  with  the  last  words  glancing  up 
quickly  to  his  eye. 

"  Ah,  so  !  "  with  another  low  whistle.  Then 
he  asked  gayly,  "And  what  does  Gaspard  think 
of  his  little  heir?  Or  is  it  a  girl?  " 

"  A  boy,  your  Majesty,  a  young  soldier,  I 
hope,"  replied  the  mother  proudly,  while  she 
tried  to  hide  her  burning  cheeks  by  showering 
caresses  on  the  baby. 

"A  soldier  let  him  be  by  all  means.  Why 
not?  He  has  a  brave  man,  I  am  sure,  for  his 
father.  And  let  me  tell  you,  Lisette,  if  I  live 
long  enough  to  see  your  soldier-boy  bear  arms, 
I  shall  make  a  captain  of  the  little  fellow,  for 
his  pretty  mother's  sake." 

She  stole  a  grateful  look  into  his  face  and 
murmured  her  thanks. 

"  Here !  Take  this,  to  start  the  little  man 
well  on  the  road,"  and  he  slipped  a  purse  into 
her  hand. 

Lisette  grasped  the  money  eagerly,  her  eyes 
dancing  with  joy,  and  hid  it  away  in  her  bosom. 
"  Oh,  your  Excellency,  —  your  Majesty,  I  mean, 
how  generous  you  are  !  It  will  be  a  fortune  for 
the  boy,  when  he  comes  to  be  a  man.  Trust 
me  to  keep  it  safe  for  him  !  " 

Thereupon  she  was  hurrying  away,  but  Henry 
stopped  her,  saying,  "  Stay  a  moment,  Lisette. 
You  are  an  inventive  genius.  Come  now,  bring 
your  wits  into  play."  Then  he  asked  her  a 
question  in  a  low  tone. 

The  maid's  eyes  flashed  a  quick  look  of  intel- 
182 


King  or  Knave 

ligence  into  his.  She  pursed  up  her  mouth 
an  instant  in  thought,  then  nodded,  as  if  to 
say,  "  All  right.  I  '11  manage  it,"  and  tripped 
away. 

Henry's  question,  simple  enough  in  itself,  had 
suggested  to  her  the  possibility  of  gratifying  a 
feeling  which  was  strong  within  her.  She  thor- 
oughly hated  her  haughty  mistress.  Within 
the  past  year  another  powerful  motive  had 
come  into  play.  She  was  intensely  jealous  of 
her.  As  an  equal,  she  would  have  competed 
with  her  successfully,  she  fancied.  What  she 
lacked  in  classic  beauty  she  believed  that  she 
more  than  compensated  in  sprightliness  and 
tact.  For  this  shrewd  minx  had  observed  that, 
though  in  theory  the  fair  alone  deserve  the 
brave,  in  practice  the  adroit  commonly  get 
them. 

Her  philosophy  of  life  was  very  simple :  Men 
are  mostly  stupid,  gullible  creatures.  By  brute 
force  they  control  things.  Let  woman  use  her 
proper  weapon,  cunning,  and  she  can  blind  one 
of  the  clumsy  giants  and  keep  him  grinding 
contentedly  in  her  prison-house  so  long  as  she 
lists.  Acting  on  this  theory,  she  had  promptly 
married  Gaspard  and  made  of  the  enamored 
page  an  uxorious  and  docile  husband. 

But  as  a  menial  what  could  she  do?  The 
impassable  gulf  between  them  gave  an  insuper- 
able advantage  to  the  other.  This  thought 
stung  her  and  sharpened  her  jealousy,  which 
was  further  intensified  by  the  sense  of  a  claim 
183 


King  or  Knave 

on  Henry  as  strong  as  any  that  Gabrielle  could 
ever  obtain. 

At  the  first  she  had  aided  his  efforts  to  win 
her  mistress  out  of  a  merely  sentimental  interest 
in  a  romantic  affair,  for  the  fun  of  the  thing. 
Now,  since  her  own  feelings  had  become  so 
deeply  involved,  her  dearest  wish  was  to  defeat 
the  hopes  which  she  was  sure  that  Gabrielle 
entertained.  And  the  best  way  of  accomplish- 
ing this  was  to  do  that  which  had  now  come 
into  her  mind.  If  she  might  not  aspire  to  win 
the  prize  herself,  she  might  dash  it  from  her 
rival's  hand.  Oh!  it  would  be  sweet  to  see 
Gabrielle's  pride  humbled,  to  behold  her  fallen 
from  the  prospect  of  a  royal  consort's  career 
to  the  condition  of  a  betrayed  and  deserted 
girl! 


184 


CHAPTER   THE   FIFTEENTH 

How  Gabrielle,  having  summoned  courage,  will  fain  pluck 
the  Fleur-de-lis,  but  clasps  a  thorn  and  is  rudely 
pricked. 

WHEN  Gabrielle  met  her  lover  the  second 
time,  she  was  more  composed  and  had  thought 
out  a  definite  line  of  action. 

Why  should  not  she  begin  to  give  him  some 
idea  of  what  she  expected  and  would  exact? 
It  would  clear  the  ground,  if  she  should  begin 
to  outline  the  conditions  on  which  his  success 
depended. 

But  how  far  should  she  commit  herself? 
That  was  the  most  serious  question.  To  yield 
too  much,  in  the  present  state  of  his  affairs, 
would  be  preposterous.  True,  he  was  now  King 
by  divine  right.  But  human  perversity,  con- 
crete in  the  League,  might  still  set  divine  right 
a  long  time  at  defiance.  From  Bellegarde  she 
had  learned  that  the  royal  army  had  nearly 
melted  away,  on  the  accession  of  a  heretic  king. 
Many  Catholics,  like  fipernon,  stood  aloof  from 
him.  To  promise  herself  unconditionally  to  a 
man  of  fortunes  still  so  dubious  would  surely 
be  the  height  of  imprudence. 

On  the  other  hand,  she  must  not  drive  him 
away  discouraged.     It  would  be  dangerous  to 
'85 


King  or  Knave 

presume  too  much  on  her  hold  upon  him. 
There  were  other  pretty  women  in  France,  will- 
ing too,  and  every  day  that  she  let  her  suitor 
roam  free,  she  imperilled  that  ultimate  empire 
over  him  which  had  become  part  of  the  warp 
and  woof  of  her  thoughts. 

No,  she  must  not  part  from  him  this  time 
without  doing  something  to  rivet  the  golden 
chains.  She  must  contrive  a  way  to  convey  to 
him  the  assurance  that,  certain  conditions  ful- 
filled, he  might  hope  to  win  her,  but  withal  in 
such  fashion  that  she  would  not  herself  be 
bound. 

Then  a  happy  inspiration  came  to  her.  How 
could  she  accomplish  this  object  so  well  as  by 
asking  something  from  him?  This  would  give 
him  the  feeling  that  she  was  looking  up  to  him 
as  her  protector.  In  her  narrow  field  she  had 
been  a  close  student  of  masculine  nature,  and 
she  had  learned  that  nothing  so  flatters  a  man 
as  to  have  one  of  the  diviner  half  of  humanity 
supplicating  him. 

To  push  her  brother's  interests  with  his  royal 
master  was  the  thing,  next  to  her  own  ambition, 
nearest  her  heart ;  and  a  specific  request  on  this 
point  would  convey  an  unmistakable  hint  of  the 
shortest  road  to  her  affections. 

There  was  still  another  point,  one  of  great 
delicacy.  She  had  not  been  free  from  self- 
reproaches  on  account  of  her  treatment  of 
Bellegarde.  She  could  justify  herself  only  on 
the  ground  of  being  a  victim  of  inexorable  fate. 
186 


King  or  Knave 

Now  had  come  the  thought,  that  she  might 
become  his  benefactress.  What  an  exquisitely 
beautiful  atonement  that  would  be,  if,  while 
cruel  fate  compelled  her  to  deny  him  her  love, 
she  should  secretly  be  the  means  of  raising  him 
to  honor!  How  little  would  he  dream  that 
she,  who  had  seemed  so  unrelenting,  was,  like 
a  guardian-angel  hovering  over  the  path  of  a 
mortal,  watching  his  steps  and  helping  him  on 
his  road !  The  idea  seemed  admirable  and 
took  complete  possession  of  her  imagination. 
With  this  purpose  in  mind,  she  went  to  the 
trysting-place  on  the  second  morning. 

Henry  came,  too,  to  the  same  meeting  with 
a  fixed  plan.  He  had  observed  with  unbounded 
pleasure  the  change  in  Gabrielle's  manner.  He 
did  not  delude  himself  with  the  belief  that  she 
was  in  love  with  him.  But  that  she  liked  him 
was  probable.  That  she  was  in  a  more  pliant 
mood  was  certain.  War  had  taught  him  the 
necessity,  during  a  siege,  of  seizing  the  critical 
hour,  when  the  defensive  works  had  been  weak- 
ened by  protracted  bombardment,  and  launching 
the  full  force  of  the  attack  against  the  practicable 
part  ere  the  garrison  should  have  had  time  to 
reinforce  the  endangered  point.  Such  a  crisis 
had  come  in  his  present  undertaking.  How  far 
would  he  be  able  to  take  advantage  of  it? 

The  outward  conditions  seemed  favorable. 
The  air  was  full  of  suggestions  of  languorous 
delights,  of  voluptuous  abandonment  to  plea- 
sure. Amid  such  an  environment  a  stern  view 
187 


King  or  Knave 

of  life  seemed  wholly  out  of  place.  By  her 
every  voice,  by  the  breeze  softly  sighing  in  the 
tree-tops  and  fanning  the  brow  with  delicious 
refreshment,  by  the  low  murmur  of  boughs 
gently  swaying,  by  the  blended  odors  of  the 
forest,  by  the  joyful  carol  of  birds  yielding  glad 
obedience  to  the  universal  master,  Love,  Nature 
bade  all  her  children  live  free  and  happy,  seize 
the  pleasures  of  the  passing  hour,  and  let  the 
morrow  care  for  itself. 

At  all  events,  to  Henry,  grandson  of  the  author 
of  the  Heptameron,  half-pagan  at  heart  and  pos- 
sessing a  memory  stored  with  Boccaccian  senti- 
ments and  situations,  such  was  the  suggestion 
of  that  soft  summer  morning.  Keenly  alive  to 
every  outward  impression,  he  did  not  doubt 
that  the  same  sensuous  influence  was  felt  by  the 
beautiful  girl  who  had  come  to  a  clandestine 
rendezvous  with  him. 

And  indeed  there  was  ground  for  his  belief. 
For  Gabrielle's  beauty  had  taken  on  a  new  and 
subtler  charm.  An  indefinable  something  in 
her  look  and  manner  betrayed  strange  emotions. 
Every  trace  of  hauteur  and  of  the  sarcastic  mood 
was  lost  in  a  softer  loveliness.  Never  had  she 
seemed  so  exquisitely  feminine,  such  an  embodi- 
ment of  the  eternal  womanly.  The  subdued 
animation  of  her  manner,  the  half-submissive, 
half-pleading  glance  with  which  her  eye  met  his 
and  then  sank  before  it,  every  movement,  every 
accent,  bespoke  some  ineffable  change.  Juno 
had  been  transformed  into  Venus. 
188 


King  or  Knave 

The  lover  was  enraptured.  His  heart  beat 
high  with  hope.  At  the  first  words  that  passed 
between  them  he  seemed  to  have  a  foretaste  of 
love's  victory.  All  the  passion  that  had  been 
growing  in  him  since  they  first  met,  was  con- 
centrated in  an  intense  yearning  towards  that 
exquisite  creature.  At  the  sound  of  her  voice, 
never  before  so  softly  modulated,  still  more  as  he 
pressed  his  eager  lips  to  her  warm  fingers,  his 
whole  frame  glowed  with  a  tremulous  ardor. 

The  delightful  significance  of  the  first  meeting 
was  wholly  interior.  The  words  were  common- 
place enough.  Soon  Gabrielle  guided  the  con- 
versation to  the  subject  which  lay  close  to  her 
heart.  She  began  by  thanking  Henry  a  second 
time  for  his  gracious  conduct  towards  her 
brother.  This  she  did  so  sweetly  and  with  a 
manner  so  deferential,  that  it  was  immensely 
effective  by  its  delicate  suggestion. 

Her  lover  was  charmed.  He  replied  with  the 
amplest  assurances  of  his  intention  to  make 
Gaston's  interests  his  especial  care.  He  expa- 
tiated on  his  delight  in  rendering  any  service 
which  would  add  to  her  happiness. 

She  thanked  him  warmly.  Then,  with  a  slight 
degree  of  embarrassment  which  enhanced  her 
beauty,  she  begged  that  his  Majesty  would 
include  Bellegarde  in  his  gracious  intentions. 

She  had  no  need  to  fear  that  her  motive  would 

be  misunderstood.     A  duller  man  might  have 

made  such  a  mistake.     Not  so  Henry.     At  the 

first   mention   of   the   young   man's    name    he 

189 


King  or  Knave 

glanced  keenly  at  the  speaker,  noting  her  emo- 
tion. At  once  he  saw  the  full  significance  of  her 
request.  She  was  at  the  same  time  satisfying 
some  lingering  kindness  towards  Bellegarde  and 
appeasing  her  conscience.  He  knew  in  a  mo- 
ment that  he  had  nothing  to  fear  from  him 
as  a  rival.  No  woman,  certainly  no  woman  of 
Gabrielle's  high  spirit,  would  put  a  man  whom 
she  loved  in  the  position  of  receiving  favors, 
through  her,  from  a  rival  whom  she  did  not 
love. 

In  this  petition,  preferred  with  so  much  inno- 
cence, Henry  heard  the  note  of  surrender,  and 
his  heart  beat  faster. 

Presently  Lisette  came,  holding  a  handkerchief 
to  her  face,  and  said,  "  Oh,  Mademoiselle,  I  beg 
you  to  let  me  go  to  the  chateau  a  few  minutes. 
My  nose  bleeds  dreadfully."  In  truth  her  hand- 
kerchief was  saturated  with  blood. 

Gabrielle  looked  furious  at  her  attendant. 
The  idea  of  leaving  her,  just  when  she  was 
conscious  of  needing  her  more  than  ever ! 

"  Go,"  she  said  angrily,  "  and  see  that  you 
come  back  quickly." 

When  the  maid  had  disappeared,  Henry's  re- 
strained manner  disappeared.  He  threw  him- 
self at  his  mistress'  feet  and  poured  out  impas- 
sioned utterances.  He  called  earth  and  heaven 
to  witness  that  he  could  not  longer  live  without 
her.  He  swore  that  her  coldness  was  killing 
him.  He  vowed  that  he  desired  no  greater 
felicity  under  heaven  than  that  of  laying  his 
190 


King  or  Knave 

kingdom  at  her  feet  and  showing  her  to  all  the 
world  as  the  empress  of  his  soul.  At  the  earli- 
est possible  day  the  Pope  should  be  invoked  to 
dissolve  his  unhappy  and  illegal  marriage  with 
his  cousin  and  bless  the  union  of  two  loving 
hearts.  Meanwhile  let  her  trust  him,  let  her 
believe  that  no  human  being  could  be  half  so 
tender  of  her  well-being  and  her  good  name  as 
he  would  be.  Only  let  her  have  faith  to  put 
her  happiness  and  honor  in  his  keeping,  and  all 
would  be  well.  She  should  soon  shine  out  before 
the  world  as  the  mistress  of  France. 

Meanwhile  he  had  seized  her  hand,  which  she 
did  not  withdraw,  and  devoured  it  with  kisses, 
while  he  pressed  closer  and  ever  closer  to 
her. 

On  her  side,  Gabrielle  experienced  strange 
emotions.  As  she  listened  to  his  burning  words, 
as  she  felt  his  hot  breath  on  her  cheek  and  the 
magnetic  current  flowing  through  his  hands,  she 
was  filled  with  a  novel  sensation.  The  influence 
already  vaguely  astir  in  her  blood  gathered 
power  and  swept  through  her  in  a  forceful  cur- 
rent. The  sensuous  languor  of  the  summer- 
tide,  like  a  basking  serpent  suddenly  awakened 
to  fierce  activity,  had  become  a  fever  in  her 
veins. 

What  was  the  meaning  of  this  impulse  to 
throw  herself  into  his  arms,  to  lay  her  head  on 
his  shoulder  and  weep,  she  habitually  so  self- 
reliant,  so  scornful  of  silly  and  sentimental 
women?  Her  brain  reeled.  Her  breath  came 
191 


King  or  Knave 

and  went  in  quick  gasps.  She  felt  her  cheeks 
burning.  Reason  and  principle  were  forgotten. 
For  the  time  existence  was  reduced  to  its  merely 
physical  plane.  She  seemed  to  herself  to  strug- 
gle desperately  against  a  ruthless  traitor  who 
had  suddenly  risen  against  her  within  herself. 

How  long  this  episode  lasted  she  never 
knew.  Afterwards,  as  she  looked  back  to  it,  it 
seemed  to  rise  like  a  mountain  in  her  memory 
and  overshadow  all  metes  and  bounds  of  time. 
Nor  did  she  ever  know  just  how  it  ended.  She 
only  knew  that  after  some  time  her  thoughts 
became  clearer  and  reason  regained  its  seat. 
In  the  chaos  of  her  emotions  two  practical 
points  loomed  up  :  no  contract  had  been  made, 
no  preliminaries  settled ;  and  Lisette  might 
return  at  any  moment.  The  thought  of  com- 
promising herself  in  that  despised  person's  eyes 
turned  the  scale.  Pride  came  to  her  rescue,  and 
she  regained  her  self-control. 

Still  she  was  conscious  that  she  had  made  a 
moral  surrender.  With  what  scorn  would  she 
once  have  repelled  and  forever  resented  such  an 
approach !  Now  she  had  offered  but  a  half- 
hearted resistance.  She  was  saved,  but  how 
narrowly !  The  thought  of  the  perilous  brink 
so  near  to  which  she  had  heedlessly  wandered, 
appalled  her. 

She  was  honest  enough  with  herself  to  accept 

this  occurrence  as  an  outward  and  visible  sign 

of  an  inward  and  spiritual  change.     To  herself 

she  admitted  that,  had  she  not  given  herself  to 

192 


King  or  Knave 

Henry  in  intention,  she  never  would  have  toler- 
ated this  experience. 

But  this  sense  of  a  moral  lapse  was  not  the 
thing  that  exasperated  her.  With  that  aspect 
of  the  matter  she  was  already  familiar,  and  she 
accepted  it  stolidly  as  an  inseparable  attendant 
of  the  course  she  was  following.  "  Such  a 
career,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  is  not  for  a  nun." 
The  commercial  aspect  of  her  brief  aberration 
was  the  insistent  one.  How  nearly  she  had  lost 
the  fruits  of  her  well-laid  plans  ! 

When  Lisette  returned,  as  she  tripped  by  to  her 
former  seat,  she  sent  a  demure  side-long  glance 
at  the  pair.  (If  masters  and  mistresses  could 
but  know  the  unutterable  things  that  servants 
think  under  their  sly  conventionality  and  open- 
eyed  blindness!)  There  was  nothing  unusual 
apparent.  The  lovers  were  a  few  paces  apart, 
the  one  seated,  as  before,  the  other  standing 
respectfully.  Only  a  keen  observer  would  have 
remarked  a  sullen  fire  in  Gabrielle's  eye  and  a 
burning  spot  on  either  cheek,  otherwise  pallid, 
while  the  other  betrayed  nothing,  except  a  little 
suppressed  excitement  in  a  somewhat  nervous 
gayety. 

The  wily  maid  noted  these  signs  and  drew  her 
own  conclusions. 

And  now  Henry  must  shortly  begone.  He 
could  not  expect  to  prolong  these  interviews 
indefinitely.  Moreover,  they  would  serve  no 
good  purpose.  He  very  well  understood  that, 
for  the  present,  he  had  reached  his  limit.  The 
13  193 


King  or  Knave 

grand  coup  had  failed.  Nothing  remained  but 
to  draw  off  his  forces  and  renew  the  deliberate 
operations  of  a  scientific  siege. 

They  had  come  to  their  last  words.  It 
was  the  final  throw  of  the  cards,  and  there  was 
eagerness  on  both  sides  to  score  a  point,  the 
wooer  to  secure  a  definite  promise,  the  wooed 
to  lose  none  of  the  advantage  which  she  had 
gained  by  her  recent  victory,  fortuitous  though 
it  may  have  been.  The  sense  of  having  come 
off  the  stronger  from  that  encounter  revived  in 
her  something  of  her  old  spirit  of  raillery. 

"  Beautiful  Gabrielle,  you  will  not  send  me 
away  hopeless?"  said  Henry,  bending  low,  in 
an  impassioned  murmur. 

"  Surely  not,  Sire.  That  were  a  cruel  thing, 
when  you  have  so  great  need  of  hope.  When 
you  have  an  army  to  collect,  wavering  subjects 
to  rally  and  inspire,  the  League  to  overcome, 
the  Church  to  conciliate,  —  in  short,  a  sea  of 
difficulties  to  cross,  it  would  be  little  less  than 
treason  in  a  loyal  subject,  who  from  her  heart 
wishes  you  success,  to  put  the  least  shadow  of 
discouragement  in  your  way." 

"  Ah !  is  it  so,"  replied  Henry  with  feeling, 
"  that  you  taunt  me  with  my  troubles?  Would 
you  remind  me  that  I  have  still  a  kingdom  to 
conquer?  Granted.  But  bethink  you  of  the 
things  which  I  have  already  accomplished. 
Recall  the  obstacles  already  surmounted.  I  say 
to  you,  it  is  written  in  Heaven  that  I  shall 
succeed." 

194 


King  or  Knave 

"  That  may  very  well  be,  your  Majesty.  But, 
pardon  me,  a  plain  mortal  must  be  content  to 
wait  until  that  which  your  keener  eye  sees 
written  in  Heaven  is  registered  on  earth,  before 
she  can  accept  it." 

"  Ah,  cruel  one  !  will  you,  then,  rob  me  of  the 
hope  by  which  I  live?" 

"  God  forbid,  Sire  !  Have  not  I  told  you  how 
fervently  I  desire  your  success  ?  Is  it  not  my 
hourly  prayer  that  you  may  win  your  throne  ? 
And  have  you  forgotten,  Sire,  that  I  have  a 
brother  and  friends  who  share  your  good  or  ill 
fortune?  Surely,  these  are  reasons  enough  why 
I  am  deeply  concerned  for  your  triumph." 

Henry  sighed,  "Is  that  all  that  you  can  say 
to  a  heart  hungering  for  love?"  Then,  sud- 
denly bursting  into  a  passionate  cry,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  What  care  I  for  kingdom  and  crown, 
unless  I  may  share  them  with  the  queen  of  my 
soul?  More  to  me,  Gabrielle,  I  swear,  than  all 
else  is  your  love.  Give  me  that,  and,  though  I 
might  dwell  in  a  hut,  I  would  not  exchange  with 
the  Emperor.  Rob  me  of  that,  and  the  throne 
of  France  would  find  me  a  beggar  still.  Great- 
ness I  seek  only  that  I  may  lay  it  at  your  feet, 
cruel  one,  and  make  you  the  peer  of  queens." 

Gabrielle  looked  at  him  archly.  "  Is  not 
this,"  she  asked  "  a  scrap  from  one  of  those  old 
romances  on  which  you  once  told  me  that  your 
youth  was  nourished?  Why  should  I  suppose 
that  your  Majesty,  confronted  by  a  thousand 
obstacles  and  overwhelmed  by  the  cares  of 


King  or  Knave 

state,  can  find  time  or  thought  to  bestow  on 
me?" 

"  Gabrielle,  I  swear  it.  On  my  honor  as  a 
king,  nay,  as  a  knight,  I  call  Heaven  to  witness 
that  you  are  the  supreme  object  of  my  life. 
Listen  to  me !  Cease,  for  God's  sake,  your 
trifling  with  words  and  let  heart  speak  to  heart. 
I  adore  you.  I  lay  myself  and  every  hope  that 
I  have  at  your  feet.  Tell  me  in  plain  words 
how  I  may  win  you." 

"  Your  Majesty  uses  strange  language.  As 
if  I  could  impose  terms !  "  Then,  suddenly 
changing  to  a  tone  of  command,  she  said,  "  Go, 
Sire,  and  conquer  your  throne.  Make  the  title 
of  King  a  reality." 

"And  then?" 

"  Then  we  shall  see." 

The  lover  lifted  the  beautiful  hand  to  his  lips, 
pressed  it  again  and  again,  and  murmured,  "  I 
go,  to  come  back  and  lay  France  at  your  feet." 
Then  he  turned  away  and  disappeared  in  the 
forest. 


196 


PART   III 

CHAPTER  THE   SIXTEENTH 
How  the  King  laughs  best  because  he  laughs  last, 

RUMORS  the  most  disquieting  for  the  royalists 
and  encouraging  for  their  enemies  ran  through 
the  country.  The  Bearnais,  it  was  contemptu- 
ously said  by  the  latter,  was  growing  weaker 
every  day  and  his  pretensions  more  ridiculous. 
The  former  heard  with  dismay  that  his  army 
had  been  so  depleted  by  defections  that  he  was 
not  only  unable  to  act  offensively  against  Paris, 
but  could  not  even  make  a  stand  against  May- 
enne  in  the  field.  Not  only  had  the  extreme 
Catholics  refused  to  support  a  heretic  king,  but 
not  a  few  of  the  Huguenot  chiefs,  incensed  at 
the  promises  which  he  was  compelled  to  make 
to  the  adherents  of  the  other  faith,  withdrew 
from  him  with  their  troops. 

The  universal  expectation  was  that  he  would 
fall  back  on  that  region  where  the  Reformation 
had  its  chief  strength  and  where  he  had  person- 
ally the  most  following,  the  South-West. 

To  the  immense  surprise  of  both  friends  and 
foes,  he  took  just  the  opposite  course.  With 
appalling  audacity,  he  advanced  into  Normandy, 
197 


King  or  Knave 

a  region  where  the  Protestant  faith  had  always  but 
a  slender  following,  and  where  its  fortunes  were 
associated  with  the  disastrous  battle  of  Dreux. 
It  looked  like  plunging  into  the  jaws  of  ruin. 
In  point  of  fact,  it  was  an  exceedingly  shrewd 
move.  It  gave  to  the  scattered  royalists  of  the 
North,  —  and  Normandy  was  intensely  loyal,  — 
an  opportunity  of  rallying  around  the  banner  of 
their  new  king;  and,  above  all,  it  placed  him  in 
easy  communication  with  Elizabeth  of  England 
and  within  reach  of  the  men  and  supplies  which 
he  expected  from  her. 

The  northward  march  was  viewed  by  the 
enemy  with  unfeigned  delight.  It  was  sup- 
posed to  be  the  overture  of  their  certain 
triumph.  Mayenne  took  the  road  in  the  same 
direction,  promising  confidently  to  bring  back 
the  Bearnais  dead  or  a  prisoner.  So  assured 
was  Paris  that  it  would  soon  hear  the  tidings  of 
a  glorious  victory  of  the  League,  that  windows 
on  the  Rue  Saint- Antoine  were  hired,  that  from 
them  one  might  witness  the  triumphal  proces- 
sion escorting  the  captive  Bearnais. 

Henry  was  serene  and  hopeful.  He  had  few 
men  and  no  money.  After  the  death  of  his 
predecessor,  he  had  been  able  to  retain  the 
Swiss  auxiliaries  only  on  condition  of  their  serv- 
ing on  credit  for  some  months.  But  such  was 
the  indomitable  spirit  of  the  man,  and  so  strong 
was  the  faith  of  his  most  tried  officers  in  his 
ability  to  overcome  all  difficulties,  that  they 
inspired  others  with  their  own  enthusiasm. 
198 


King  or  Knave 

Thus,  falling  back  with  his  little  army  before 
one  overwhelmingly  larger,  he  presented  the 
rare  spectacle  of  a  retreating  commander  gaining 
ground  in  the  confidence  of  his  men. 

And  now  the  northern  limit  had  been  reached. 
He  must  fight,  surrender,  or  be  driven  into  the 
sea.  With  the  English  Channel  at  his  back,  he 
took  position  near  the  castle  of  Arques  and  pre- 
sented a  bold  front  to  the  foe.  The  Duke  of 
Parma,  Philip  of  Spain's  renowned  commander 
in  the  Low  Countries,  had  sent  a  considerable 
force  to  Mayenne's  aid.  German  lanzknechts 
and  reiters  and  Swiss  Catholic  infantry,  hired 
with  Spanish  money,  marched  under  the  banners 
of  the  League. 

In  short,  the  insurgents  had  massed  all  their 
resources  to  overwhelm  the  heir  of  the  throne. 
Mayenne  calculated  on  shutting  him  up  in 
Dieppe,  and  either  destroying  him  there,  or 
compelling  him  to  desert  his  army  and  take 
flight  by  water  to  England  or  Rochelle. 

Henry  had  no  notion  of  letting  himself  be 
caged  in  Dieppe.  Arques  offered  an  immense 
advantage  to  an  army  acting  on  the  defensive, 
and  he  hastened  to  seize  that  position  and 
strengthen  himself  there  with  earthworks. 
Soldiers,  sailors,  and  citizens  worked  together 
with  incredible  energy,  under  the  personal 
direction  of  the  King  and  Marshal  de  Biron,  in 
digging  trenches  and  rearing  ramparts. 

Mayenne  moved  with  his  usual  deliberateness. 
When  he  appeared  on  the  scene,  he  found  his 
199 


King  or  Knave 

adversary  awaiting  him  with  a  force  only  one- 
third  as  large  as  his,  but  in  a  position  naturally 
strong  and  improved  by  all  that  military  skill 
could  do. 

Still  the  outside  world  thought  Henry  lost 
Indeed  the  situation  seemed  desperate.  Withal 
he  was  never  more  serene  than  now,  when  he 
stood,  sword  in  hand,  with  his  back  to  the  sea, 
to  make  a  desperate  fight  for  his  kingdom. 

Two  days  the  League  commander  spent  in 
reconnoitring  and  in  vain  efforts  to  entice  his 
wary  foe  from  his  entrenched  camp.  Then, 
under  cover  of  a  dense  fog,  he  attacked  in 
force. 

Through  an  act  of  treachery  on  one  side  and 
of  credulity  on  the  other,  the  royalists  came 
near  to  losing  the  day,  almost  before  it  was 
begun.  A  regiment  of  German  spearmen,  at 
the  head  of  the  infantry  of  the  League,  on  com- 
ing close  to  the  breastwork,  began  to  shout 
that  they  were  Protestants,  and  that  they  pur- 
posed yielding  themselves  to  the  King.  There- 
upon their  countrymen  and  the  Swiss  among 
the  defenders  shouted  welcome  to  them  and 
even  helped  them  to  enter  the  lines.  Once 
within  the  trenches,  the  perfidious  Teutons 
began  to  lay  them  about  furiously,  killing  every- 
body within  reach.  One  bold  fellow  went  so 
far  as  to  hold  his  pike  at  Henry's  breast  and 
call  upon  him  to  surrender. 

The  situation  was  critical.  Biron  was  un- 
horsed. The  King's  men,  confounded  by  the 
200 


King  or  Knave 

sudden  appearance  of  a  large  body  of  the  enemy 
among  them,  were  giving  ground  in  dismay.  A 
moment  more  and  a  panic  was  inevitable. 

At  the  height  of  the  confusion  Henry's  voice 
was  heard  shouting,  "Are  there  not  in  France 
fifty  gentlemen  to  die  with  their  King?" 

"  Here  is  one,  Sire,"  shouted  a  youthful  voice 
near  him,  and  Bellegarde  came  hewing  his  way 
to  his  master's  side.  Another  and  another  re- 
sponded, till  the  King  was  surrounded  by  a 
determined  band  of  gentlemen  who  aided  him 
to  hold  the  assailants  in  check  and  rally  the  dis- 
ordered ranks.  In  this  service  none  was  more 
strenuous  or  more  efficient  than  Bellegarde,  and 
Henry  observed  with  the  delight  of  an  old  sol- 
dier the  young  fellow's  coolness  and  courage. 

This  timely  effort  turned  the  tide.  The  royal- 
ist troops  recovered  themselves  from  their  tem- 
porary disorder.  Henry  had  sent  for  some  of 
his  cavalry,  and  these  charged  the  Leaguers 
with  effect.  At  the  same  time,  Chatillon,  the 
great  son  of  great  Coligny,  with  five  hundred 
Huguenot  veterans,  the  "  tenth  legion  "  of  the 
royal  army,  took  the  enemy  in  flank.  With  their 
steady  tramp  these  hardy  soldiers  drove  the 
Germans  back  foot  by  foot.  A  fresh  cavalry 
charge  increased  their  disorder. 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  the  fog  lifted,  and  the  sun 
of  France  shone  out.  Instantly  the  guns  of  the 
castle  of  Arques,  hitherto  silent  because  of  the 
fog,  thundered  on  the  shattered  assailants  and 
completed  their  discomfiture.  The  day  was 
201 


King  or  Knave 

saved.  As  Mayenne  was  retiring,  covering  his 
retreat  with  a  Swiss  regiment  in  close  column, 
Biron  pushed  forward  several  cannon  and  poured 
into  this  dense  array  volley  after  volley,  with 
cruel  slaughter. 

Louis  de  Bellegarde's  one  regret  was  that  his 
friend,  Gaston,  whose  regiment  was  with  Marshal 
d'Aumont  in  Picardy,  could  not  share  in  the 
glories  of  that  day. 

"  Monsieur  de  Bellegarde,"  said  the  King,  at 
their  first  meeting  after  the  battle,  "you  have 
earned  the  thanks  of  every  true  Frenchman  by 
your  courage  and  energy  at  a  trying  moment. 
Trust  me,  the  first  command  at  my  disposal 
shall  be  yours." 

Well  might  Louis's  heart  swell  with  pride  and 
joy.  Ah,  that  Gaston  had  been  there,  that  he 
might  repeat  those  words  to  his  father  and  to 
another  who  had  all  the  delight  of  soldierly 
blood  in  gallant  deeds ! 

A  few  days  later  Henry  met  a  movement  of 
Mayenne  to  take  his  position  in  the  rear  by 
transferring  his  army  to  Dieppe.  A  fresh  attack 
of  the  Leaguers  was  repulsed  with  disastrous 
loss.  Then,  to  crown,  as  it  seemed,  the  triumph 
of  the  royal  arms,  an  English  fleet  sailed  into 
the  harbor  of  Dieppe  and  landed  four  thousand 
English  and  Scotch  soldiers,  sent  by  Elizabeth 
to  the  aid  of  her  ally. 

Mayenne's  hopes  were  blasted.  His  army 
disheartened  by  reverses  and  weakened  by  de- 
sertion, he  had  no  alternative  but  to  retreat 
202 


King  or  Knave 

The  Bearnais,  lately  falling  back  before  his  pur- 
suers, "  into  the  sea,"  as  they  said,  now  drove 
them  before  him  towards  Paris.  His  friends 
began  to  believe  that  some  magic  influence  was 
at  work,  and  that  no  human  power  could  pre- 
vail against  him.  Not  only  was  all  France 
thrilled  with  the  story  of  his  achievement  and 
plunged  into  gloom,  or  exalted  to  an  almost 
frantic  joy;  Europe  awoke  to  the  discovery 
of  a  genius.  Embassies  came  from  various 
states  to  congratulate  him  on  his  accession, 
and  to  offer  treaties  of  alliance.  The  Sultan 
tendered  him  a  powerful  fleet.  The  world 
began  to  see  in  him  the  only  man  who  could 
hold  Spain,  the  universal  oppressor,  in  check. 

Now  the  victor  was  once  more  before  Paris. 
But  the  city  of  Saint  Genevieve  had  no  idea 
of  tamely  yielding  to  the  hated  and  dreaded 
Bearnais.  The  militia,  the  citizens,  even  the 
monks  were  under  arms.  The  royal  forces  met 
a  brave  though  unskilled  resistance.  Neverthe- 
less, the  suburbs  were  taken.  Chdtillon's  stern 
Huguenots,  with  the  cry,  "  Remember  Saint 
Bartholomew's  Day,"  drove  the  citizen  soldiers 
with  dreadful  slaughter  through  the  streets  of 
the  faubourg.  With  sack  and  pillage  of  the 
suburbs  the  royal  troops  compensated  them- 
selves for  the  pay  which  their  leader  was  unable 
to  give  them.  The  fall  of  the  rebellious  city 
was  imminent. 

Then  came  an  unexpected  deliverance.     May- 
enne,  who  was  supposed  to  be  at  Amiens,  has- 
203 


King  or  Knave 

tened  to  the  rescue  by  forced  marches.  A 
half-burned  bridge  over  the  Oise  which  he  re- 
paired, opened  for  him  the  road  to  the  capital, 
and  before  Henry  had  any  intimation  of  his 
being  in  the  vicinity,  he  was  inside  Paris.  How 
characteristic  of  the  Bearnais,  that  he  should  let 
the  fruits  of  a  great  victory  slip  through  his 
fingers  !  It  was  the  story  of  Coutras  repeated. 

Nothing  remained  for  him  but  to  draw  off 
his  forces,  in  the  hope  that  Mayenne  would 
attack  him  in  the  open  country.  But  the 
League  leader  was  playing  his  own  game  and 
resolutely  declined  to  accommodate  his  adver- 
sary with  an  engagement. 

Then  began  a  vigorous  campaign  in  the  pro- 
vinces. Throughout  the  winter  Henry  occu- 
pied himself  with  taking  rebellious  cities  and 
with  organizing  his  government.  Town  after 
town  opened  its  gates  to  him,  the  more  readily 
because  he  was  notoriously  lenient  in  his  terms. 
Provisions  and  a  little  money  for  his  men  were 
all  that  he  asked,  and  beyond  occasionally  hang- 
ing some  conspicuous  traitor,  he  showed  no 
sign  of  resentment.  So  swift  were  his  move- 
ments, and  so  rapidly  his  successes  followed 
one  another,  that  the  League  was  fairly  stupe- 
fied. Before  the  end  of  the  winter  Normandy, 
Picardy,  and  Maine  were  almost  wholly  paci- 
fied. Of  the  great  provinces  of  the  North, 
Brittany  alone  held  out.  The  South  and  the 
West  were  already  his.  Everywhere  he  was 
gaining  ground. 

204 


CHAPTER  THE   SEVENTEENTH 

How  hate  and  revenge,  for  once,  serve  a  good  purpose, 
and  how  Jean  Fourcade  denies  himself  his  heart  'j 
desire  at  the  cost  of  another's  peace. 

IT  was  no  easy  task  that  confronted  Jean 
Fourcade.  The  more  he  pondered  it,  the  more 
he  realized  its  difficulties. 

First,  he  was  alone  and  unsupported.  Under 
other  circumstances,  to  denounce  his  enemy 
and  appeal  to  her  record  would  have  been  the 
obvious  course.  But  here,  amid  timid  villagers, 
overawed  by  their  masters,  who  were  of  strong 
Leaguer  sympathies,  it  would  have  been  suicidal 
madness.  - 

Again,  he  was  not  there  in  his  individual 
capacity,  but  as  his  master's  representative. 
To  disclose  his  identity  prematurely  would  de- 
feat the  object  of  his  mission ;  and  he  must  not 
sacrifice  his  public  duty  to  private  ends. 

He  might  obtain  a  private  interview  with 
Mademoiselle  de  Rebours,  and,  by  working  on 
her  fears,  secure  proof  of  her  guilt  towards 
him.  But  this  would  involve  the  abandonment 
of  TreVille,  since  it  pre-supposed  a  promise  of 
secrecy.  And  this  course  he  would  not  even 
consider.  Come  what  might,  he  was  resolved 
205 


King  or  Knave 

that  under  no  circumstances  would  he  take  the 
part  of  silence. 

Was  there,  perhaps,  some  way  of  saving  young 
Treville,  without  precipitating  a  catastrophe? 
None  that  he  could  think  of.  He  might  send 
him  a  letter  of  warning.  But  what  would  it  avail? 
The  infatuated  youth  would  surely  throw  it  aside 
as  the  work  of  a  cowardly  slanderer. 

More  than  once  he  thought  of  seeking  the 
parish  priest  and  laying  his  whole  story  before 
him.  He  had  ascertained  that  Father  Damien 
was  held  in  reverence  by  all  his  humble  flock 
as  a  godly  shepherd,  zealous  for  their  good, 
keeping  himself  aloof  from  the  wicked  crew  of 
castle-folk,  and  meeting  them  only  at  the  call  of 
duty,  when  he  must  needs  touch  the  leprosy 
which  he  could  not  heal. 

But  here  recurred  the  old  difficulty.  Why 
should  this  priest  believe  a  story  which  other 
priests  had  discredited?  Besides,  the  detail  of 
a  personal  grievance  against  Mademoiselle  de 
Rebours  would  surely  weaken  the  attempt  to 
rescue  young  Treville,  by  putting  his  procedure 
under  suspicion. 

Such  were  the  perplexities  which  beset  Four- 
cade.  Turn  which  way  he  would,  he  could  see 
no  way  out  of  them. 

One  point  alone  loomed  up  clear :  only  when 
he  should  be  able  to  confront  his  enemy  openly 
with  such  damning  evidence  as  would  abash 
even  her  brazen  effrontery,  could  he  move 
effectively  against  her.  Until  then,  patience  ! 
206 


King  or  Knave 

Was  ever  mortal  in  a  more  cruel  strait?  Here, 
before  him,  within  his  reach,  was  an  almost  in- 
fallible way  of  gaining  the  end  dearest  to  him 
in  the  world.  He  had  but  to  wash  his  hands 
of  young  Treville's  ruin,  in  order  to  secure  the 
means  which  would  restore  his  Sophie  and  his 
good  name.  On  the  other  hand,  let  him  save 
the  youth,  and  that  act  would  forever  shut  the 
door  of  hope  against  himself. 

His  will  failed  him.  He  had  no  power  to 
decide. 

But  one  thing  he  could  do  and  he  must  do 
immediately.  It  was,  to  communicate  with  his 
master.  He  must  secure  from  him  whatever 
might  aid  his  purpose.  Whether  or  not  he 
should  use  it,  he  must  be  forearmed. 

It  behooved  him,  also,  to  make  a  report  of 
his  observations.  He  had  now  been  at  Usson 
long  enough  to  reach  very  definite  conclu- 
sions on  the  point,  which  had  occasioned  his 
coming  thither.  It  was  evident  that  there 
was  not  anything  to  be  apprehended  from 
Marguerite's  assemblage  of  infamous  notorie- 
ties, men  of  no  name  at  all  and  women  of  too 
much  name,  all  too  indolent  and  too  steeped 
in  frivolous  pleasures  to  initiate  a  political 
movement. 

Happily,  he  had  a  trusty  messenger  at  hand. 
He  had  found,  living  incognito  at  Usson,  an 
old  comrade,  Gilles  Du  Pre  by  name,  a  former 
trooper  of  La  Trimouille's  horse,  now  eagerly 
awaiting  an  opportunity  of  returning  to  the 
207 


King  or  Knave 

King's  service.     He  was  just  the  man  to  carry 
a  letter  to  his  master. 

To  the  King  he  wrote  briefly  and  strongly  the 
result  of  his  observations :  that  from  the  ruined 
debauchees  who  surrounded  the  Queen,  men  and 
women  devoid  alike  of  brains  or  heart  for  a 
great  enterprise,  nothing  was  to  be  apprehended 
more  serious  than  a  plot,  such  as  one  now  on 
foot,  to  entrap  an  unwary  boy  into  a  disastrous 
marriage.  To  thwart  this  scheme,  as  well  as  for 
another  purpose  which  he  would  readily  guess, 
when  he  learned  that  the  chief  person  in  this 
conspiracy  was  the  one  whom  in  all  the  world 
the  writer  had  the  most  reason  for  hating,  he 
begged  his  master  to  furnish  him  with  such  a 
statement  as  he  might  use  most  effectively.  He 
knew  the  man  too  well  to  fear  that  any  reserve 
would  stand  in  the  way  of  Henry's  responding 
to  this  request.  He  begged  also  that,  since  the 
object  of  his  mission  had  been  accomplished,  he 
might  have  leave  to  rejoin  the  army,  so  soon  as 
his  personal  affairs  had  been  settled. 

A  week,  Fourcade  thought,  would,  under 
ordinary  conditions,  give  ample  time  for  the 
return  of  his  messenger. 

It  was  a  week  of  almost  intolerable  suspense. 
Now  it  had  passed,  and  there  was  no  sign  of 
Du  Pre.  Two  days  more  Fourcade  waited,  with 
such  patience  as  he  could  command.  Mean- 
while signs  and  rumors  indicated  that  his  oppor- 
tunity was  fast  nearing  its  end  :  whatever  was  to 
be  done  must  be  done  quickly. 
208 


King  or  Knave 

Then  he  formed  a  desperate  resolve.  He 
would  put  on  his  boldest  front  and  try  to  force 
his  enemy  to  terms.  In  her  first  surprise  at  his 
unexpected  appearance,  and  not  knowing  the 
weakness  of  his  position,  perhaps  she  would  give 
way.  At  all  events,  he  might  by  a  bold  show  ar- 
rest the  progress  of  her  plans  and  secure  time  for 
the  return  of  his  messenger.  It  was  worth  a  trial. 

Little  did  Fourcade  dream  what  momentous 
consequences  would  result  from  this  seemingly 
forlorn  attempt. 

By  bribing  a  fellow  from  the  castle,  he  secured 
the  delivery,  through  the  lady's  maid,  of  a  note 
which  ran  thus: 

"  One  who  has  long  known  Mademoiselle  de 
Rebours,  and  who  is  outside  the  circle  in  which  she 
now  moves,  earnestly  desires  an  interview  with  her. 
If  she  thinks  her  interests  worth  guarding,  she  will 
meet  him  to-morrow,  unattended,  unless  by  her 
maid,  an  hour  before  sunset,  on  the  bridge  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill." 

In  the  perilous  step  which  he  was  about  to 
take,  of  dealing,  alone  and  unsupported,  with 
a  crafty  and  unscrupulous  woman,  it  behooved 
him  to  take  every  precaution  against  treachery. 
The  bridge  was  approached  from  the  village  by 
a  long  stretch  of  open  road.  Beyond  it  and 
across  a  narrow  meadow,  a  dense  copse  bor- 
dered the  highway.  From  this  concealment 
he  might  see  whether  his  enemy,  if  she  came, 
complied  with  the  terms  of  his  note. 
*4  209 


King  or  Knave 

The  next  day,  as  the  hour  drew  near,  he 
ensconced  himself  in  the  thick  wood  beyond 
the  bridge.  He  had  not  long  to  wait  before  he 
saw  two  feminine  figures  approaching.  Truth 
to  tell,  Angelique  de  Rebours  was  no  coward. 
A  tinge  of  peril  in  any  situation  gave  it  a  charm 
for  her.  Moreover,  she  had  good  reasons  for 
not  wishing  her  meeting  with  a  stranger  to  be 
known  in  the  castle ;  and  the  openness  of  the 
place  was  a  guarantee  against  surprise. 

Fourcade  emerged  from  his  hiding-place  and 
advanced  to  meet  the  women.  They  eyed  him 
closely.  As  he  drew  nearer,  the  Rebours  bent 
on  him  a  look  of  disdain.  What  could  this 
plain-looking  man,  in  bourgeois  dress,  have  to 
say  to  her  that  might  affect  her  interests  ? 

"  May  I  ask  Mademoiselle  de  Rebours  to 
grant  me  speech  with  her  alone  ?  "  said  Four- 
cade. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  started,  and 
the  look  of  contemptuous  indifference  quickly 
changed  into  one  of  mingled  scorn  and  hatred. 

"  Go,  Justine,  and  wait  for  me  by  yonder  tree." 

As  the  maid  withdrew,  the  mistress  turned 
fiercely  upon  Fourcade. 

"  You  here  !  How  dare  you  ?  And  who  gave 
you,  insolent,  the  right  to  summon  me  to  meet 
you  ?  Have  you  forgotten  that  I  once  promised 
that  some  day  I  should  have  a  gentleman  slit 
your  ears  ?  " 

"  I  have  forgotten  nothing,  Mademoiselle  de 
Rebours.     Therefore  it  is  that  I  am  here." 
210 


King  or  Knave 

His  firm  and  restrained  manner  impressed 
her. 

"  What  is  it,  then,  that  you  want  ? " 

"  Justice !  That  you  furnish  me  proof,  in 
your  handwriting,  of  the  infamous  falsehood  by 
which  you  have  smirched  my  honor  and  blasted 
my  happiness." 

The  woman's  eyes  blazed. 

"  How  dare  you  speak  to  me  thus,  low-born 
knave  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  I  can  have  you 
strung  up  like  a  thieving  cur?  And,  pardieu ! 
I  will." 

"No,  Mademoiselle,  you  will  not.  You  do 
not  forget  that  the  longest  arm  and  the  sharp- 
est sword  in  France  will  be  stretched  out  to 
avenge  me.  I  am  here  on  his  errand.  Let 
one  of  your  crew  touch  me,  and  you  will  have 
treason  to  answer  for.  You  know  its  penalty." 
And  he  made  a  significant  gesture. 

"  Not  for  me  !  "  she  laughed  scornfully.  "  I 
shall  be  far  away." 

"Never  dream  it!  He  knows  that  you  are 
here.  So  soon  as  I  learned  the  fact,  I  sent  an 
express  messenger  to  him  with  the  news.  Let 
the  least  harm  befall  me,  he  will  know  what 
brain  planned  it,  and  you  reckon  without  your 
host,  if  you  imagine  a  corner  in  the  realm  where 
his  vengeance  will  not  find  you." 

She  paled,  but,  with  a  scornful  laugh,  made  a 
show  of  deriding  Fourcade's  threat. 

"  Why  do  I  bandy  words  with  you,  when  I 
hold  you  here  like  a  rat  in  a  trap?  Your 

211 


King  or  Knave 

bravado  about  your  master  is  a  fairy-tale. 
Here,  in  this  remote  region,  you  might  dis- 
appear, —  you  understand,  Jean  Fourcade?  — -as 
suddenly  and  completely  as  if  the  earth  had 
swallowed  you  up.  Months  would  elapse  ere 
your  master  would  even  miss  you.  The  actors 
would  all  be  far  away,  leaving  not  a  trace.  Then 
where  would  your  fine  vengeance  be  ?  " 

"  Ha,  ha !  Mademoiselle  de  Rebours,  think 
you  that  I  who  know  you  so  well,  have  been  so 
reckless  as  to  come  hither  without  precautions? 
Believe  me,  if  harm  befell  me  at  this  moment, 
before  many  hours  should  pass,  you  would  rue 
it  bitterly.  I  have  placed  in  the  hands  of  Father 
Damien  —  ha!  you  know  him,  I  see — a  sealed 
document,  to  be  opened,  mark  you  well,  if  the 
least  evil  betides  me.  It  contains  a  statement 
which,  the  hour  that  he  reads  it,  will  drive  him 
straight  to  the  castle,  to  confer  with  a  certain 
young  gentleman  whom  it  nearly  concerns  to 
know  your  past  life  —  " 

"  Devil !  "  she  hissed,  starting  towards  him 
with  a  movement  as  if  she  would  strike  him. 

"  Hold,  Mademoiselle  !  "  said  Fourcade  coolly, 
raising  his  hand ;  "  there  is  more.  My  state- 
ment, unsupported,  that  young  gentleman  would 
discredit.  But  my  death,  mark  you  well !  would 
stamp  it  true,  as  surely  as  it  would  indicate  the 
murderess.  You  follow  me?" 

She  ground  her  teeth. 

Shaking  his  finger  in  warning,  he  continued 
deliberately,  "  Observe,  then,  the  least  violence 
212 


King  or  Knave 

done  to  me  blasts  your  dearest  hopes.  Ha! 
Have  I  touched  you  now?  Listen  yet  Your 
simile  of  a  rat  in  a  trap  is  admirable.  Only 
reverse  it,  I  pray  you.  The  trap  is  yonder 
castle,  and  the  rat  is  the  nest  of  traitors  whom 
it  harbors.  My  master  knows  the  whole  miser- 
able intrigue.  But  for  his  contempt — and  mine 
—  you  would  not  sleep  in  your  beds  to-night. 
Had  I  spoken  the  word,  you  would  ere  this 
have  counted  your  beads  by  the  light  of  burn- 
ing rafters.  Provoke  him  too  far,  and — you 
know  what  he  is,  when  he  is  roused — your  hot- 
bed of  treason  will  blaze  about  your  heads." 

They  stood  facing  each  other,  she  glaring 
and  panting  with  rage;  he,  calm  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  power,  full  of  restrained  wrath, 
resting  one  hand  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge, 
while  with  the  other  he  emphasized  his  words 
with  significant  gestures.  For  a  moment  there 
was  silence.  Then  she  said  in  a  subdued  tone, 
"What  do  you  ask,  then?" 

"What  I  said  at  the  first — justice,  a  full 
avowal  of  your  crime ;  that  given  to  me  in  writ- 
ing and  attested  by  you  in  person  before  the 
village  priest." 

The  Rebours  was  pale  and  gasping.  Quickly 
she  glanced  over  the  situation.  Should  she 
submit  to  this  humiliation  ?  Had  he  the  means 
of  compelling  her  ?  It  was  doubtful.  He  evi- 
dently feared  making  an  unsupported  statement 
against  her.  So  long  as  she  left  him  undisturbed, 
he  could  not  harm  her. 

213 


King  or  Knave 

On  the  other  hand,  when  the  cup  of  happiness 
was  so  near,  was  it  prudent  to  tolerate  the  pres- 
ence of  an  enemy  who  might  dash  it  from  her 
lips?  It  surely  was  worth  an  effort  to  remove 
him.  How  much  freer  she  would  breathe,  when 
she  knew  him  gone !  Besides,  what  she  would 
concede  could  not  possibly  harm  her  at  Usson. 
She  would  condition  her  yielding  on  Fourcade's 
going  away  immediately. 

Who  will  say  that  there  was  not,  also,  some 
desire  to  undo  her  great  crime  and  make  such 
amends  as  were  possible?  Was  her  heart  so 
seared  that  it  was  incapable  of  a  single  whole- 
some feeling?  Or  was  there  deep  beneath  her 
cynical  recklessness  a  yearning  for  a  truer  life  ? 

Her  manner  changed.  From  being  defiant  it 
became  conciliatory.  Her  voice  was  soft  and  low. 

"  And  if  I  am  willing  to  do  what  you  ask,  to 
give  you  a  writing  that  will  clear  you,  what 
return  do  you  make?" 

Ah,  that  was  for  Fourcade  the  moment  of 
supreme  trial.  The  tempter  was  before  him, 
this  woman  bidding  for  a  compact  of  silence, 
he  to  go  his  way  to  Sophie,  freed  from  oppro- 
brium; she  to  pursue  her  schemes,  safe  from 
molestation. 

In  that  moment,  not  so  much  young  Treville's 
peril  as  her  crime  was  uppermost  in  his  mind. 
All  the  growing  hate  of  years  seemed  concen- 
trated into  one  intense  force.  There  she  was 
before  him,  this  arch-traitress  who  had  mur- 
dered his  peace;  the  arrogant  patrican  suing 
214 


King  or  Knave 

for  terms.  Ha!  it  was  something  gained,  to 
have  bent  that  proud  will. 

Should  he  make  a  compact  with  her,  let  her  go 
unpunished,  to  crown  her  career  of  crime  with 
an  honorable  marriage?  A  thousand  times,  no! 
She  must  pay  the  penalty  of  the  evil  she  had 
done. 

Yet,  ah !  it  was  hard  to  reject  this  offer. 
Pale,  and  with  set  features,  he  said  one  word: 

41  Nothing." 

She  bowed  her  head  and  was  silent  for  a 
moment.  Then  she  pleaded  again,  looking  at 
him  with  beseeching  eyes,  — 

"  Listen,  Jean  Fourcade !  I  will  do  all  that 
you  ask.  You  shall  have  a  writing  that  will 
clear  you  utterly.  You  shall  go  to-morrow  — 
to-night,  if  you  will  —  think  of  it,  this  very 
night !  to  your  Sophie,  with  the  proof  of  your 
innocence.  Forgive  me,  if  you  have  it  in  your 
heart.  But,  for  God's  sake,  go.  Will  you  ?  " 

She  had  touched  the  right  chord,  but  under 
her  hand  it  yielded  a  discord.  He  was  in- 
furiated that  she  dared  attempt  to  play  on  his 
love.  With  her  assumed  pathos  she  would 
wheedle  him,  she  who  had  cursed  his  life  !  He 
railed  at  her. 

"  Leave  you  !  Leave  you  to  entrap  a  foolish 
boy  and  blast  his  life  !  Never !  " 

She  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  my  God,  no  !     No,  no !     Not  that !  " 

Sobs  choked  her  voice.  It  was  some  time 
before  she  could  speak.  While  she  stood  there, 
215 


King  or  Knave 

the  picture  of  a  penitent  Magdalen,  her  bosom 
heaving,  her  swimming  eyes  hanging  on  his, 
Fourcade  looked  at  her  in  amazement  and  grow- 
ing wrath.  The  damned  actress  !  What  infinite 
art  she  possessed !  Her  self-abasement  made 
her  only  more  contemptible  in  his  eyes. 

After  a  while  she  regained  some  measure  of 
self-control.  Again  she  pleaded,  with  her  hands 
clasped,  her  lips  quivering,  her  head  bowed. 

"  Oh  !  Jean  Fourcade,  hear,  before  you  refuse 
me.  I  have  done  you  a  great  wrong.  As  God 
is  my  judge,  I  bitterly  rue  it.  Forgive  me,  if 
you  can.  I  am  willing  to  do  all  that  is  possible 
to  make  amends.  It  will  yet  be  well  with  you. 
A  true  woman's  love  awaits  you.  As  you  hope 
hereafter  to  be  forgiven,  do  not  be  harsh  with 
me.  For  mercy's  sake  spare  me  !  Ah,  if  you 
knew  my  heart;  how  I  loathe  the  life  I  live, 
how  I  long  for  a  better !  Will  you  shut  the 
door  in  my  face?  Ah,  God!  you  would  pity 
me,  if  you  knew  my  story,  how  men  have 
tempted  and  pursued  me  all  my  life.  Who  but 
this  boy  has  ever  offered  me  a  true  love  ?  My 
one  dream  is  of  a  home,  a  quiet  home  of  trust 
and  honor,  far  away  from  courts.  No  wife  was 
ever  truer  than  I  shall  be.  I  would  not  have  a 
shadow  of  suspicion  cross  his  mind.  I  shall 
live  a  new  life  and  deserve  his  trust.  Will  you 
forgive  and  spare  me?  I  will  pray  —  you  look 
at  me — yes,  I  will  pray  night  and  day  that  God 
will  reward  and  bless  you  and  crown  you  and 
your  Sophie  with  happiness." 
216 


King  or  Knave 

She  paused,  her  lips  parted,  looking  beseech- 
ingly into  his  face  in  an  agony  of  supplication. 

Should  he  trust  her?  Could  he?  Was  this 
contrition  genuine,  or  was  it  but  another  device  of 
the  arch-deceiver?  He  remembered  how  she 
once  imposed  on  him  with  words  of  friendly 
sympathy  and  cunningly  drew  from  him  the 
story  of  his  love,  to  make  a  mock  of  it ;  how  she 
played  the  actress  to  his  gentle  Sophie,  greeting 
her  with  smiles,  when  she  meant  to  stab  her  to 
the  heart.  A  new  wave  of  anger  swelled  up 
within  him.  Believe  her?  No!  Forgive  her? 
Never !  Her  apparent  contrition  only  showed 
how  utterly  she  felt  herself  in  his  power.  He 
swept  aside  her  pitiful  appeal  with  a  rude 
gesture. 

"  I  promise  nothing,  Mademoiselle ;  will  yield 
nothing.  You  have  heard  my  terms :  a  written 
confession,  attested  before  the  priest.  Nothing 
less.  You  do  well  to  humble  yourself,  since 
my  day  has  come  at  last.  But  it  will  avail  you 
nothing.  You  are  about  to  reap  what  you  have 
sown." 

She  stretched  out  her  hand  and  laid  it  timidly 
on  his  arm.  But  for  the  nearness  of  her  maid, 
she  would  have  gone  down  on  her  knees  to  him. 

"  For  her  sake !     She  would  forgive  me." 

His  eyes  blazed.  He  threw  off  her  hand 
savagely. 

"  How  dare  you  mention  her,  infamous ?  " 

She  recoiled  from  him.     Her  manner  changed 
more  swiftly  than  before.     Her  face  grew  livid, 
217 


King  or  Knave 

her  features  rigid.  Her  wet  eyes  flamed.  All 
the  devil  in  her  was  roused.  She  had  humbled 
herself,  only  to  be  flouted  with  insult ! 

While  she  glared  at  him  like  a  fury,  she 
quickly  glanced  over  the  situation.  She  had 
lived  a  gambler's  life.  She  was  accustomed  to 
swift  decisions  and  great  ventures.  Now  she 
was  playing  for  a  high  stake.  A  few  days  more 
were  all  she  needed.  Could  he  harm  her  within 
that  time?  Scarcely.  She  would  chance  it. 
There  was  no  alternative,  other  than  that  of 
ruining  herself. 

Pale  with  rage,  she  hissed  in  his  face,  "  Do 
your  worst,  insolent!  I  defy  you."  And  she 
swept  away. 

Alas  for  Fourcade !  He  had  made  a  brave 
throw  for  a  great  stake,  and  it  had  failed.  Now 
he  must  suffer  the  miserable  reaction  of  disap- 
pointment. He  must  exercise  all  his  self-con- 
trol to  hold  himself  in  hand,  while  his  enemy 
enjoyed  her  triumph.  Once,  twice  within  the 
next  few  days  he  encountered  her  and  her 
gallant.  Sweeping  with  her  keen  glance  the 
groups  of  lookers-on,  as  she  rode  past,  she 
easily  singled  him  out,  and  their  eyes  met. 
Hers  expressed  concentrated  hate.  Each  day 
strengthened  her  conviction  that  he  was  power- 
less. 

Meanwhile  rumor  among  the  villagers  had  it 
that  preparations  were  being  rapidly  pushed  for 
the  expected  nuptials  at  the  castle. 

Heavens !  How  long  would  this  suspense 
218 


King  or  Knave 

last?  How  long  could  he  endure  it?  Had  his 
messenger  proved  faithless?  Or  had  some  mis- 
hap befallen  him?  Soon  he  would  have  lost 
such  an  opportunity  as  could  never  come  to 
him  again.  He  knew  not  that  Gilles  Du  Pr6  in 
his  endeavors  to  reach  Henry,  was  like  one 
chasing  a  bog-light.  The  "brigand  king"  was 
careering  over  the  country,  pushing  an  irregular 
warfare,  such  as  delighted  his  adventurous 
spirit.  No  sooner  would  Du  Pr6  hear  of  him  at 
one  place  and  follow  him  thither,  than  he  was 
away,  striking  the  enemy  at  some  other  point. 


219 


CHAPTER  THE   EIGHTEENTH 

How  the  King  -visits  a  lady  who  makes  light  of  the  magic 
spell,  but  haply  meets  another  who  adores  it. 

ABOUT  the  end  of  February,  Henry  had 
settled  down  to  besieging  Dreux.  The  slow 
operations  of  the  approach  by  parallels  gave 
him  leisure  for  entertaining  himself;  and  the 
neighborhood  was  not  wanting  in  the  means. 

A  few  leagues  away  from  Dreux  and  near  to 
Mantes  was  an  object  of  great  attraction  for 
him.  The  chateau  of  La  Roche-Guyon  was  oc- 
cupied by  a  lady  whom  he  had  known  in  her 
girlhood.  He  had  heard  of  her  marriage  and 
widowhood ;  but,  until  a  few  months  since,  he 
had  not  met  her  within  several  years.  Antoi- 
nette de  Pons,  Marquise  de  Guercheville,  was 
reputed  to  be  wealthy  and  a  stanch  royalist. 

For  these  reasons,  as  he  passed  near  her 
abode  on  his  march  northward,  the  previous 
autumn,  he  had  visited  her.  He  had  found  a 
lady  of  fascinating  beauty  and  manners.  He 
had  been  dazzled  and  captivated.  Madly  enam- 
ored though  he  was  of  Gabrielle,  his  susceptible 
nature  was  not  capable  of  coming  near  so  much 
charm  without  experiencing  emotion. 

But  no  sooner  did  he  exhibit  the  least  sign  of 
a  gallant  mood,  than  the  lady  playfully  checked 


King  or  Knave 

him.  At  his  first  complimentary  speech  she 
said  laughingly,  "  Ah,  Sire,  reserve  your  rhetori- 
cal flowers  for  younger  women.  I  am  too  old 
to  care  for  them.  You  would  not  want  me  on 
my  terms,  and  I  would  not  have  you  on  yours. 
Count  me  for  one  of  your  steady-going,  reliable 
subjects,  ready  to  die  for  you  as  my  King,  if 
need  be.  But  as  for  anything  else,  excuse  me, 
I  pray  you."  And  the  beautiful  widow,  her 
bright  eyes  lighted  with  mirth,  looked  more 
provokingly  fascinating  than  ever. 

Every  subsequent  attempt  to  draw  her  out 
of  this  attitude  proved  equally  vain.  She  made 
light  of  Henry's  expressions  of  admiration.  No 
callow  youth  could  have  been  checked  in  too 
precocious  advances  by  a  cool-headed  woman 
of  the  world  in  more  sprightly  fashion  than  was 
this  renowned  gallant  by  a  woman  many  years 
his  junior. 

Henry  was  piqued.  This  experience  was 
novel  and  exasperating.  To  be  set  down  with 
so  good-humored  raillery  he  could  not  resent. 
But  it  put  him  on  his  mettle.  Of  all  things  in 
the  world  he  would  have  liked  to  lay  siege  to 
this  mocking  lady;  and  no  captured  citadel 
could  have  yielded  him  half  the  pleasure  he 
would  have  derived  from  making  her  feel  the 
fire  of  love. 

But  the  exigencies  of  war  compelled  him  to 

continue  his  march,  and  for  some  time  he  saw 

nothing  more  of  the  baffling  lady  of  La  Roche- 

Guyon.     Again   and  again   she  came  into  his 

221 


King  or  Knave 

thoughts,  however,  in  the  trenches  at  Arques 
and  during  the  campaign  of  the  ensuing  months. 

Now  he  found  himself,  by  a  happy  chance,  in 
her  neighborhood,  with  leisure  to  follow  up  the 
opportunity.  He  longed  to  see  her.  He  was 
haunted  by  the  memory  of  that  smile,  at  once 
so  alluring  and  so  mocking.  There  were  ques- 
tions, too,  which  he  wished  to  solve.  Was  she 
really  impervious  to  love?  Or  was  her  heart 
pre-occupied  ?  More  likely  the  latter.  That 
any  one,  least  of  all  a  young  and  beautiful 
widow,  could  live  without  love  seemed  almost 
incredible.  He  had  a  great  desire,  too,  to  know 
how  she  would  receive  him  since  fortune  had 
declared  so  markedly  in  his  favor. 

Accordingly,  one  day,  when  the  siege  was 
well  under  way,  he  galloped  off  on  one  of  those 
romantic  excursions  which  were  his  delight,  and 
presented  himself  at  the  chateau  of  La  Roche- 
Guyon. 

He  found  the  lady  of  the  manor  not  one  whit 
less  provokingly  beautiful  and  baffling  than  on 
the  former  occasion.  She  greeted  him  with 
effusive  loyalty,  congratulated  him  warmly  on 
his  brilliant  successes  and  expressed  her  joy  at 
his  marked  progress  towards  the  throne.  But 
the  moment  that  he  made  an  approach  to  a 
gallant  vein,  he  found  himself  checked  by  the 
merry  laugh  which  seemed  to  treat  his  love- 
making  as  a  mild  monomania,  not  to  be  dealt 
with  seriously. 

Presently  she  rose  and  left  the  room,  saying, 
222 


King  or  Knave 

"  Excuse  me  a  moment,  Sire.  I  have  a  pteasant 
surprise  in  store  for  you." 

She  returned  very  quickly,  leading  in  Gabrielle 
d'Estrees. 

To  explain  this  young  lady's  unexpected 
presence,  we  must  go  back  a  little. 

It  will  perhaps  be  remembered  that  the  Baron 
of  Cceuvres  had  of  late  been  much  occupied 
with  the  idea  that  his  daughter's  isolated  life 
was  a  great  hindrance  to  her  making  such 
acquaintances  as  might  promote  his  darling 
scheme  of  a  brilliant  marriage  for  her.  This 
feeling  had  been  not  a  little  strengthened  by 
his  discovery  of  her  feeling  for  Bellegarde.  It 
made  him  realize  that  she  had  a  heart,  and 
that  there  was  danger  of  her  misplacing  it. 
He  credited  her  with  too  good  principles  to 
suppose  that  she  could  be  capable  of  over- 
looking the  advantages  of  such  a  union  as  he 
dreamed  of,  when  the  chance  should  come  in 
her  way.  Having  been  reared  with  sound  views, 
under  favoring  conditions,  that  is  to  say,  the 
presence  of  admirers  of  birth  and  wealth,  she 
would  not  fail  to  act  as  would  become  her 
father's  child.  After  all,  it  was  not  to  be  won- 
dered at,  if  the  poor  girl,  in  her  isolation,  had 
conceived  some  sort  of  foolish  feeling  for  a 
pleasing  young  fellow.  But  let  her  see  some- 
thing of  the  great  world,  and  she  would  justify 
the  principles  so  carefully  instilled  into  her,  by 
making  a  suitable  choice. 

The  King's  successes  contributed  to  strengthen 
223 


King  or  Knave 

this  conviction.  The  accession  of  a  monarch  so 
capable  and  already  voluntarily  pledged  to  ad- 
vance his  son  v/as  full  of  bright  promise  for  his 
house.  It  revived  his  long-deferred  hopes  of 
seeing  his  family  once  more  in  the  full  zenith  of 
glory ;  and  it  emphasized  the  necessity  of  put- 
ting Gabrielle  in  the  way  of  doing  her  part  in 
this  work  and  reaping  her  full  share  of  the 
expected  honors. 

To  take  her  to  court  was  the  natural  thing. 
But  court  there  was  none,  when  the  King  was 
still  fighting  for  his  crown.  To  introduce  her 
in  Paris  was  equally  out  of  the  question,  since 
the  capital  was  in  the  hands  of  a  mob  of  bigoted 
insurgents. 

The  next  best  thing  would  be  to  place  her,  if 
possible,  under  the  care  of  some  distinguished 
lady  who  might  take  her  interests  in  charge. 
Happily  there  was  one,  the  widow  of  a  near 
kinsman,  to  whom  he  believed  that  he  might 
appeal  with  a  good  hope  of  success.  Many 
years  had  elapsed  since  he  had  seen  Madame 
de  Guercheville.  But  she  was  reputed  amiable 
and  virtuous,  and  he  knew  her  to  be  rich  and 
well-born.  To  his  great  joy,  a  carefully  worded 
letter,  in  which  he  stated  his  views  and  wishes 
and  pathetically  bewailed  his  daughter's  double 
misfortune  in  her  isolation  and  in  her  lack  of  a 
mother's  care  at  a  time  when  it  was  peculiarly 
needed,  brought  a  favorable  reply.  The  lady 
wrote  that  it  would  give  her  great  happiness  to 
have  her  young  cousin  come  for  a  long  stay 
224 


King  or  Knave 

under  her  roof,  and  that  she  would  endeavor  to 
do  a  motherly  part  by  her. 

Gabrielle  heard  the  news  of  this  plan  with 
unbounded  delight.  What  a  relief  from  the 
dreary  monotony  of  life  at  Coeuvres !  And 
what  joy  to  enter,  under  the  most  favorable 
auspices,  into  the  great  world ! 

Thus  the  early  winter  found  her  domiciled  at 
La  Roche-Guyon. 

When  his  hostess  left  Henry,  she  gave  him  no 
idea  of  the  nature  of  the  surprise  which  she  had 
in  store  for  him.  Nor  did  she  tell  Gabrielle  who 
was  the  visitor  whom  she  wished  her  to  meet. 
It  was  a  bit  of  harmless  pleasantry  in  which  she 
was  about  to  indulge.  It  would  be  great  fun, 
she  thought,  to  watch  the  effect  upon  Henry's 
susceptible  nature  of  coming  unexpectedly  into 
the  presence  of  beauty  so  bewildering.  For 
Gabrielle,  too,  she  had  a  surprise  planned.  It 
would  be  rare  sport  to  introduce  the  plain- 
looking  gentleman,  with  the  air  of  a  soldier  of 
fortune,  under  a  private  name,  and  then  to  enjoy 
her  confusion,  when  she  should  learn  the  truth. 

Her  scheme  collapsed  in  an  instant.  Preced- 
ing Gabrielle  into  the  room,  she  was  in  the  act 
of  saying,  "  Mademoiselle  d'Estre"es,  I  have  the 
honor  of  presenting  Monsieur  de  Bourbon," 
when  she  was  struck  with  the  signs  of  startled 
recognition  on  both  sides. 

Gabrielle  flushed  crimson,  then  turned  deadly 
pale  and  trembled  visibly.  Even  the  veteran 
Henry  could  not  quite  command  himself  and 
16  225 


King  or  Knave 

betrayed  his  embarrassment  in  the  absence  of 
the  debonair  manner  habitual  to  him  in  the 
society  of  women. 

He  was  the  first  to  recover  himself,  and  the 
two  exchanged  greetings  in  the  most  indifferent 
tone  that  each  was  able  to  assume. 

Henry  made  haste  to  express  his  pleasure  in 
meeting  Mademoiselle  d'Estrees  and  to  inquire 
after  her  father's  health ;  while  Gabrielle  formally 
congratulated  him  on  his  accession  to  the  throne 
and  the  success  of  his  arms. 

But  the  evident  desire  of  both  to  give  their 
acquaintance  the  most  commonplace  character 
in  appearance  did  not  impose  on  their  hostess. 
She  shrewdly  suspected  something  unusual  in 
their  relations,  and  the  reputation  of  one  of  the 
parties  inevitably  forced  upon  her  mind  certain 
sinister  surmises,  so  far,  at  the  least,  as  he  was 
concerned.  She  could  not  but  feel  disquieted 
for  her  young  kinswoman  and  deeply  regretted 
having  been  the  means  of  renewing  an  acquaint- 
ance which  boded  no  good  to  Gabrielle,  if  it 
should  be  continued. 

Henry's  visit  did  not  last  long.  The  con- 
versation turned  on  matters  of  public  interest, 
such  as  the  progress  of  the  siege  of  Dreux,  the 
sentiment  of  the  burghers,  and  the  political  com- 
plexion of  the  surrounding  region.  Gabrielle 
a^ked  after  her  brother,  but,  as  it  seemed  to  her 
hostess,  quite  unaccountably,  did  not  express 
any  wish  to  see  him. 

After  their  visitor  had  gone,  the  lady  of  La 
226 


King  or  Knave 

Roche-Guyon  said,  looking  keenly  at  Gabrielle, 
"  You  completely  turned  the  tables  on  me,  my 
dear.  I  meant  to  surprise  you ;  but  I  own  that 
I  was  dumfounded,  when  I  learned  that  you 
and  the  King  are  old  acquaintances." 

"  He  visited  us  at  Cceuvres  during  his  cam- 
paigns in  the  South,  at  a  time  when  he  was  only 
King  of  Navarre,"  said  Gabrielle  with  a  manner 
that  plainly  implied  that  she  was  not  disposed 
to  pursue  the  subject  further. 

"  He  is  a  gentleman  whose  visits  many  fathers 
would  willingly  dispense  with,"  said  her  hostess, 
still  eying  Gabrielle  closely. 

"  He  is  much  maligned,  I  fancy,"  was  the  dry 
answer. 

Seeing  that  she  could  not  push  inquiry  further, 
without  rudeness,  her  hostess  dropped  the  sub- 
ject, with  a  painful  impression  of  some  compli- 
cation with  which,  as  Gabrielle's  guardian,  she 
ought  to  be  acquainted. 


227 


CHAPTER  THE   NINETEENTH 

How  one  who  is  too  old  to  love  decides  that  he  is  not  too 
old  to  marry — for  a  consideration. 

THE  next  day  after  his  visit  to  the  chateau  of 
La  Roche-Guyon  and  his  unexpected  meeting 
with  Gabrielle,  Henry  sat  alone  in  his  quarters, 
in  deep  thought.  He  was,  in  fact,  arranging  his 
campaign,  —  not  that  against  the  League,  but 
the  more  important  one ;  for  while,  in  his  theory, 
affairs  of  state  took  precedence  of  affairs  of  the 
heart,  he  was,  like  other  mortals,  prone  to  lose 
sight  of  his  theory  at  times.  And  just  now  the 
all-absorbing  interest  was  love.  So  far  as  he 
was  concerned,  the  League  might  go  its  way  for 
a  while. 

The  nearness  of  Gabrielle  had  stimulated  his 
passion  to  intense  activity.  That  she  was  in 
his  neighborhood,  and  free  from  the  surveillance 
of  her  father,  was  one  of  those  happy  circum- 
stances in  which  the  son  of  a  pious  mother  was 
wont  to  recognize  the  helping  hand  of  Provi- 
dence, and  was  an  augury  of  his  early  success. 

That  he  would  follow  up  the  previous  day's 

meeting  by  opening  private  communication  with 

Gabrielle   was  matter   of  course.     To  secure  a 

clandestine     interview,    through    Lisette's   aid, 

228 


King  or  Knave 

would,  perhaps,  not  be  difficult.  But  he  was 
weary  of  his  mistress's  Fabian  policy.  He  longed 
to  end  this  campaigning  that  led  to  nothing  by 
a  bold  and  successful  stroke.  This  was  the 
problem  that  occupied  his  thought  while  his 
guns  were  thundering  against  the  walls  of 
Dreux,  and  the  rebellious  burghers  imagined 
him  nursing  schemes  of  vengeance, 

His  reverie  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
a  strange  figure,  that  of  an  old  man,  bent  in  form, 
with  scant,  dingy-white  locks,  livid  complexion 
and  wizened  face,  from  which  peered  out  rheumy 
eyes,  small  and  red,  like  those  of  a  ferret. 

The  Sieur  de  Liancourt  took  his  title  from  an 
ancient  demesne  of  which  he  was  lord,  and  he 
was  by  birth  entitled  to  a  place  among  the  old 
noblesse.  But  sordid  and  miserly  habits,  grow- 
ing stronger  with  years,  had  rendered  him  an 
object  of  detestation  among  his  natural  asso- 
ciates, not  a  few  of  whom  had  sore  memories  of 
cruel  straits  to  which  he  had  put  them  in  the 
process  of  extorting  repayment,  with  enormous 
interest,  of  sums  which  they  had  borrowed  from 
him  in  their  need. 

In  this  wretched  individual  every  human 
passion  seemed  dead,  every  honorable  desire 
extinct.  He  lived  for  the  one  object  of  hoard- 
ing gold.  To  secure  money  from  the  wealthy 
at  the  lowest  and  to  let  it  to  the  needy  at  the 
highest  figure,  was  his  sole  employment.  Such 
a  personage  would  find  ample  opportunity  for 
the  exercise  of  his  peculiar  talents  in  following 
229 


King  or  Knave 

an  army-  composed,  as  was  Henry's,  largely  of 
volunteers,  frequently  in  straits  for  the  mere 
means  of  living.  But  reckless  officers,  of  gam- 
bling propensities,  often  put  to  the  necessity  of 
raising  large  sums  at  short  notice,  were  his  most 
profitable  customers;  and  more  than  one  fair 
estate  had  passed  into  his  hands  without  other 
consideration  than  a  gaming  debt,  with  interest 
charges  largely  exceeding  the  original  sum. 
Thus  he  had  accumulated  enormous  wealth. 
But  his  worn  habiliments  and  unclean  person 
suggested,  rather,  abject  penury. 

Henry  himself  had  more  than  once  been 
obliged  by  his  necessities  to  resort  to  this  vam- 
pire, whom  he  hated  as  heartily  as  did  any  of 
the  young  blades  about  the  camp. 

The  money-lender  had  come  at  this  time  to  talk 
with  his  Majesty  about  a  loan,  then  overdue. 

Happily,  the  means  of  repaying  it  were  almost 
literally  in  sight. 

"  Come  hither,  my  prince  of  robbers,"  said 
Henry,  taking  the  old  man  by  the  sleeve  and 
drawing  him  to  a  window  which  commanded  a 
view  of  the  camp  and  the  trenches  in  the  valley 
below  and,  beyond  these,  the  walls  of  Dreux. 
"  Let  me  show  you  the  solidest  security  for  the 
money  I  owe  you."  Just  then  a  puff  of  smoke 
rose  from  the  lines,  and  the  report  of  a  cannon 
came  to  their  ears. 

"There!  Did  you  mark  that  shot?"  said 
Henry.  "You  have  a  genius  for  figures,  as  I 
have  reason  to  know,  to  my  sorrow.  Come !  I 
230 


King  or  Knave 

will  bet  you  have  counted  the  shots  as  they 
have  been  fired  since  the  siege  opened,  for,  as 
you  know,  every  one  adds  to  the  security  of 
your  debt." 

"Your  Majesty  is  pleased  to  speak  in  riddles," 
said  the  miser  sulkily,  in  a  quavering  falsetto 
voice.  "  May  I  ask  you  to  interpret  for  a  plain 
old  man?  " 

"  Ha !  ha !  How  diffident  you  are  of  your 
powers  of  perception  !  Well !  If  I  must  read 
you  a  riddle,  as  you  call  it,  though  any  child 
might  understand  it,  every  shot  brings  nearer 
the  fall  of  Dreux.  And  when  the  city  is  mine, 
the  honest  burghers  must  choose  between  being 
hanged  and  paying  in  good  coin  for  the  enter- 
tainment they  have  had.  To  be  in  arms  against 
one's  King  and  to  shut  the  city  gates  in  his  face 
is  a  costly  species  of  diversion.  They  that  have 
danced  must  pay  the  piper;  and  these  good 
burghers  will  prefer  parting  with  their  lucre  to 
dancing  again  —  in  the  air.  Do  you  catch  my 
meaning  now?" 

"Does  your  Majesty  mean  that  you  will  have 
money,  if  you  take  this  town  ?  "  piped  the  old 
usurer  in  his  squeaky  voice. 

"  Who  said,  '  if '  ?  I  say,  I  shall  take  it  and 
shall  have  money.  And  I  say  further  that  you 
shall  then  have  yours,  principal  and  interest. 
Does  that  content  you,  old  harpy?" 

Liancourt  muttered  something  about  being 
only  a  poor  man  and  suffering  great  hardship 
in  consequence  of  having  to  wait  for  his  money. 
231 


King  or  Knave 

But  Henry  scarcely  heard  what  he  said. 
He  was  taking  great  strides  up  and  down  the 
room.  Suddenly  he  stopped  in  front  of  the 
old  miser. 

"  Monsieur  de  Liancourt,"  he  said,  "  what  say 
you  to  a  scheme  that  will  make  you  easily  the 
richest  man  in  France?" 

The  other  pricked  up  his  ears,  but  looked' 
suspicious. 

"  I  have  a  plan  for  you  that  will  give  you 
infinite  opportunities  of  amassing  wealth.  You 
are  too  old  to  endure  the  hardships  of  following 
the  army.  What  would  you  say  to  the  govern- 
orship of  a  rich,  quiet  city,  far  away  from  the 
scenes  of  war,  a  cosy  place  where  you  might 
carry  on  your  present  honest  calling  undisturbed 
and  make  a  handsome  sum  out  of  the  taxes 
besides?" 

Liancourt  could  not  believe  that  the  other 
was  not  joking  at  his  expense.  His  proposition 
sounded  like  one  of  the  jibes  which  were  part  of 
his  constant  experience.  He  muttered  some- 
thing sulkily  about  being  made  a  butt 

"  I  never  spoke  more  seriously  in  my  life. 
When  I  tell  you  that  I  have  an  interest  to  be 
served,  you  will  be  convinced  of  my  good  faith." 

The  miser  was  instantly  all  attention. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  continued  Henry.  "  You 
are  not  married,  I  believe." 

"  No,  Sire.     I  buried  my  poor  wife,  God  rest 
her  soul !  near  twenty  years  ago,"  squeaked  the 
other,  with  some  faint  show  of  feeling. 
232 


King  or  Knave 

"  Why,  so  much  the  better,  man.  The  good 
God  gives  you  a  chance  of  making  another 
woman  happy.  I  have  my  eye  on  one." 

"  For  me,  Sire !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man 
with  renewed  suspicion.  "What  should  I  do 
with  a  wife  ?  " 

"Nothing  at  all.  And  therein  you  will  be 
the  most  enviable  of  husbands.  You  will  have 
all  the  6clat  of  a  brilliant  marriage,  —  a  bride 
young,  beautiful,  and  admired,  —  without  any  re- 
sponsibilities. What  say  you  to  that?" 

By  this  time  it  was  evident  to  Liancourt  what 
was  the  nature  of  the  proposition.  The  ar- 
rangement would  be  nothing  new  in  the  annals 
of  royalty.  He  pondered  for  some  time.  Then 
he  said,  "  What  governorship,  for  instance,  does 
your  Majesty  offer  me?  " 

"  Perpignan  is  vacant,  and  there  is  no  war 
there.  You  might  pursue  your  vocation  of 
fleecing  the  needy,  undisturbed  and  to  your 
heart's  content.  There  is  also  Tarascon,  a 
charming  spot.  How  would  you  like  that?" 

"  Does  your  Majesty  take  me  for  a  fool,  that 
you  think  I  would  let  myself  be  banished  to  a 
mountain  village,  in  return  for  such  a  service  as 
this  ?  "  piped  the  old  usurer.  "  Now,  if  you  had 
said  Lyons  or  Marseilles — " 

"Why  not  ask  for  Paris?  You  would  shine 
as  a  military  governor.  With  your  habits  of 
sumptuous  extravagance,  you  would  quickly 
gather  around  you,  like  Joyeuse,  all  the  gilded 
youth,"  jeered  Henry.  "  Come,  old  man,  let  us 
233 


King  or  Knave 

talk  reason.  I  am  not  demented  and  do  not 
propose  to  give  away  my  kingdom  for  the  in- 
dulgence of  a  whim.  But  I  am  willing  to  pay 
a  fair  price  for  the  service  that  I  need.  I  will 
give  you  a  good  post,  where  you  will  have 
abundant  opportunity  of  making  money.  All 
that  I  ask  of  you  in  return  is  your  name.  You 
will  meet  the  lady  at  the  altar,  and  be  married. 
So  soon  as  you  have  given  her  the  right  to  be 
called  Madame  de  Liancourt,  you  will  start  for 
your  post,  and  never  see  her  again.  What  say 
you?" 

The  other  demurred.  He  was  unwilling  to 
give  up  assured  gains  for  a  merely  contingent 
profit,  without  a  cash  consideration.  The  mat- 
ter was  debated  at  great  length  between  the  two, 
until  it  was  finally  arranged  that  Henry  should 
pay  five  thousand  crowns,  out  of  the  money  of 
the  burghers  of  Dreux,  in  addition  to  the  debt 
already  due  to  the  other. 

"  I  shall  go,  your  Majesty,  and  reduce  this 
agreement  to  writing  and  bring  it  to  you  for 
signature,"  said  the  wary  money-lender.  Then, 
as  he  was  hobbling  away,  he  turned  and  asked, 
"  What  is  the  lady's  name,  Sire,  that  I  am  to 
insert  in  the  bond?" 

"No  name  whatever.  What  does  that  con- 
cern you  ?  One  lady  is  as  good  as  another,  if 
only  you  get  your  money." 

"  Not   so,   your   Majesty.     There    are    other 
things  in  the  world  than  money.      I  have   an 
old    and    honorable    name    to   sustain,   and    it 
234 


King  or  Knave 

nearly  concerns  me  to  know  on  whom  I  am 
asked  to  bestow  it.  Let  me  tell  you,  Sire,  there 
are  women  to  whom  the  name  De  Liancourt 
will  never  be  given  for  all  the  money  that 
you  might  gather  in  your  realm.  I  must  know 
who  and  what  this  lady  is :  else  there  is  no  con- 
tract." 

Henry  was  amazed  at  this  utterance  of  a  man 
in  whom  every  vestige  of  the  feeling  of  his  class 
was  supposed  to  be  dead.  It  pleased  him,  and 
he  replied  with  more  respect  than  he  had 
hitherto  shown,  "Your  request  seems  reason- 
able, Monsieur  de  Liancourt.  But  you  will  be 
contented,  when  I  assure  you,  on  the  honor  of  a 
gentleman,  that  the  lady  in  question  is  high- 
born and  of  unsullied  name." 

"No,  Sire,  that  will  not  satisfy  me.  Until 
I  am  informed  who  is  the  person,  no  compact 
between  us  is  possible." 

Henry  paced  the  room  back  and  forth,  un- 
decided. He  was  reluctant  to  reveal  so  much. 
But  there  seemed  to  be  no  alternative,  if  he 
would  secure  the  co-operation  of  the  man  on 
whom  his  choice  had  fallen.  And  he  was  too 
far  committed  to  turn  back.  He  stopped  be- 
fore the  old  man. 

"  Monsieur  de  Liancourt,"  he  said  with  solem- 
nity, "  I  am  about  to  deal  with  you  as  one  man  of 
honor  with  another.  Do  you  give  me  your  sacred 
pledge  that  you  will  not,  under  any  circum- 
stances whatever,  breathe  the  name  which  I 
shall  confide  to  you  ?  " 

235 


King  or  Knave 

"  You  have  it,  Sire." 

"  The  lady  is  Mademoiselle  d'Estre'es." 
' "  Daughter  of  the  Baron  of  Cceuvres  ?  " 

"  The  same." 

"  It  is  an  ancient  and  honorable  house.  I 
close  with  your  offer." 

With  a  parting  injunction  from  Henry  to 
observe  the  most  absolute  secrecy,  the  old 
man  shuffled  away. 

But  other  ears  than  his  had  caught  the  name 
of  Gabrielle  d'Estre'es. 

The  Sieur  de  Thouars  was  a  needy  gentleman 
of  the  South  who  commanded  a  small  troop  of 
horse.  A  rumor  that  this  company  was,  with 
some  others,  to  be  organized  into  a  regiment, 
had  drawn  him  to  the  King's  quarters,  in  the 
hope  of  having  some  private  talk  with  his 
Majesty  on  the  subject,  under  the  conviction 
that  nobody  was  so  well  fitted  for  the  new  com- 
mand as  himself. 

It  chanced  that,  when  he  reached  the  head- 
quarters, Henry  was  absent  on  a  tour  of  the 
trenches.  His  visitor,  lounging  in  the  reception- 
room,  found  the  time  hang  heavily.  Through  a 
door  opening  into  an  inner  chamber,  he  observed 
a  couch  which  looked  very  inviting.  With  that 
freedom  of  manners  which  marked  the  environ- 
ment of  the  democratic  Henry,  Thouars  stepped 
into  the  chamber,  closed  the  door,  threw  him- 
self on  the  couch,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

After  a  long  nap,  he  was  aroused  by  voices 
in   the    adjoining    room.     His    ear   caught   the 
236 


King  or  Knave 

shrill,  quavering  notes  of  Liancourt's  voice, 
which  had  for  him  certain  painful  associations. 
Instantly  he  was  on  his  feet,  full  of  curiosity 
to  know  what  was  the  usurer's  business  with  the 
King.  He  tiptoed  across  the  floor  and,  with  his 
ear  at  the  keyhole,  overheard  the  conversation. 
As  the  talk  progressed,  his  interest  grew,  and 
not  even  Liancourt's  desire  to  know  the  lady's 
name  was  greater  than  the  eavesdropper's. 
With  his  ear  pressed  against  the  keyhole, 
he  strained  every  faculty  to  catch  the  secret. 
When  Henry  pronounced  the  name,  a  great 
light  dawned  upon  him.  He  rose  from  his 
knees,  stepped  softly  across  the  floor,  passed 
out  through  an  opposite  door  and  disappeared. 


237 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTIETH 

How  the  lady  who  laughs  at  the  spell  gently  warns 
Gabrielle  of  the  grievous  ill  that  is  wont  to  betide 
damsels  dreaming  of  the  Fleur-de-lis. 

IT  was  the  evening  after  the  unexpected  meet- 
ing of  Gabrielle  and  Henry.  The  former  sat  in 
her  private  sitting-room,  pondering  the  situation, 
when  Lisette  came  in  with  an  air  of  mystery, 
and  handed  her  lady  a  note  which  she  said  had 
been  slipped  into  her  hand  by  a  man  who  was 
waiting  in  the  kitchen. 

It  ran  thus :  — 

LIGHT  OF  MY  SOUL,  How  good  is  God  in  bringing 
us  together  here  !  I  take  it  as  a  manifest  sign  of  His 
blessing  on  our  love,  and  my  heart  overflows  with 
gratitude.  I  have  a  communication  of  the  greatest 
importance  to  make  to  you.  We  must  have  a  private 
meeting.  May  it  not  be  to-morrow  evening?  Give 
me  a  rendezvous,  place  and  hour,  and  make  me  the 
happiest  of  men. 

Yours  forever,  H. 

Gabrielle   expected   something  of  the  kind. 
And  this  anticipation  had  given  her  much  con- 
cern.    Now  she  was  called  to  take  a  step  beyond 
any  that  she  had  yet  made.     The  clandestine 
238 


King  or  Knave 

interviews  at  Coeuvres  had,  at  the  least,  begun 
without  her  concurrence.  But  to  deliberately 
appoint  a  rendezvous,  and  that  under  another's 
roof,  where  it  behooved  her  to  be  extremely 
guarded  in  her  conduct,  was  a  quite  different 
matter.  She  had  reasons,  moreover,  for  be- 
lieving that  her  hostess's  principles  on  this 
subject  were  somewhat  inflexible ;  and  she  was 
naturally  very  averse  to  running  the  risk  of 
incurring  her  disapproval. 

"  Bid  the  fellow  begone.  There  is  no  answer," 
she  said  peevishly. 

Lisette  lingered.  She  read  indecision  in  her 
mistress's  manner  and  she  longed  to  expostulate. 
But  she  knew  the  imperious  lady  whom  she 
served  too  well.  To  attempt  to  dissuade  her 
would  be  to  fix  her  in  her  resolve.  Accordingly 
she  left  the  room,  but  to  do  what  she  thought 
the  situation  demanded.  She  had  her  own 
reasons  for  wishing  the  lovers  to  meet  secretly, 
and  she  would  not  let  slip  this  chance  of  bringing 
them  together. 

No  sooner  had  the  maid  left  her  presence  than 
Gabrielle  regretted  her  haste.  France  was  full 
of  pretty  women  ready  enough  to  console  such  a 
lover.  How  foolish  to  risk  throwing  a  suitor,  no- 
toriously susceptible,  into  the  circle  of  some  less 
scrupulous  woman's  influence  !  She  wished  that 
Lisette  would  return.  Why  did  not  she  wait  a 
little  longer? 

In  a  very  few  minutes  the  maid  came  back. 
That  astute  young  woman  divined  the  conflict 
239 


King  or  Knave 

in  her  mistress's  mind  and  foresaw  the  issue. 
Already  her  inventive  genius  was  at  work  in 
devising  expedients  for  furthering  the  plans  of 
the  lover  in  whose  success  she  was  so  deeply 
interested.  She  entered  the  room  with  a  care- 
less air. 

"Well,  the  fellow  is  gone,  I  suppose,"  said 
Gabrielle  with  assumed  indifference. 

"  No,  Mademoiselle.  He  seems  to  be  in  no 
hurry  to  be  off.  After  I  had  given  him  your 
message,  he  settled  himself  to  a  drinking-bout 
with  some  of  the  men.  I  dare  be  sworn  he 
will  not  budge  while  a  drop  remains." 

From  this  report  Gabrielle  correctly  surmised 
that  Lisette  had  detained  the  messenger.  This 
was  what  made  her  invaluable  as  a  lady's  maid. 
She  knew  the  value  of  indirection.  And  in 
lying  she  was  an  artist.  Had  she  said  bluntly, 
"  I  have  kept  the  man,  until  you  will  have 
changed  your  mind,"  her  mistress  would  have 
been  furious.  But  this  method  of  announcing 
the  same  thing  soothed  her  pride. 

Presently  Gabrielle  said,  as  if  she  were  think- 
ing aloud,  "If  only  there  were  some  place  where 
we  might  meet."  She  knew  that  Lisette  had 
guessed  the  tenor  of  the  note. 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle,  if  only  there  were,"  she 
answered  demurely. 

In  a  minute  or  two  she  exclaimed,  as  if  sud- 
denly inspired,  "  Oh,  Mademoiselle,  there  is  the 
old  chapel." 

"  Who  would  think   of  such   a  place    for   a 
240 


King  or  Knave 

rendezvous?"  said  Gabrielle  scornfully,   but  at 
heart  delighted. 

Then  Lisette  eagerly  urged  the  advantages  of 
the  chapel.  It  was  on  the  ground-floor  beneath 
Gabrielle's  apartments,  so  that  it  might  be 
reached  without  passing  through  any  other  part 
of  the  chateau,  there  being  a  private  staircase 
leading  to  it ;  while,  also,  a  visitor  could  be  ad- 
mitted without  attracting  attention. 

Gabrielle  was  not  slow  to  see  the  advantages 
of  such  a  place  of  meeting;  and  the  result  of 
their  conference  was,  that  she  wrote  a  few  lines, 
unsigned,  bidding  her  correspondent  come,  on  the 
following  night,  at  ten  o'clock,  to  the  chapel  door 
on  the  south  side  of  the  east  wing  of  the  chateau. 

The  next  morning  the  two  ladies  sat  together 
embroidering.  Madame  de  Guercheville  had 
given  much  thought  to  the  subject  of  Gabrielle's 
meeting  with  Henry  and  had  decided  on  a  line 
of  conduct.  At  a  pause  in  the  conversation  she 
asked  abruptly, — 

"  Would  you  suppose,  my  dear,  that  I  have 
quite  recently  been  the  subject  of  his  Majesty's 
assiduous  attentions?" 

Gabrielle  started  and  turned  pale  under  the 
penetrating  gaze  fixed  upon  her.  With  some 
difficulty  she  recovered  herself  and  stammered, 

"  Why  not,  Madame  ?  Beauty  and  grace, 
they  say,  always  command  his  homage." 

"Oh,   little    flatterer!"    the   other    laughed. 
"  One  could  easily  imagine  that  you  have  taken 
lessons  from  him  in  the  art  of  pleasing." 
16  '241 


King  or  Knave 

Gabrielle's  color  changed  quickly  with  guilty 
confusion.  She  stammered,  "What !  I,  Ma- 
dame? You  jest,  surely."  Then,  with  a  strong 
effort  to  recover  herself  and  to  divert  the  con- 
versation to  a  less  awkward  theme,  she  said, 
"  You  have  aroused  my  curiosity.  Now,  surely, 
you  will  gratify  it.  I  am  dying  to  hear  how  the 
King  wooed  you." 

"Well,  the  story  is  not  a  long  one,  and  it 
may  be  that  it  will  profit  you  to  hear  it.  Last 
fall  I  was  surprised  to  receive  a  visit  from  his 
Majesty,  as  he  was  passing  northward  with  his 
army,  falling  back  before  the  superior  forces 
of  the  League.  His  affairs  then  seemed  quite 
desperate,  and  one  would  have  imagined  that 
he  would  have  no  thought  for  a  woman,  espe- 
cially one  whom  he  had  not  seen  since  she 
was  a  child.  But  with  this  extraordinary  man 
gallantry  seems  quite  the  chief  object  in  life. 
So  he  came  to  see  me,  gay  and  debonair  after 
his  wont,  and  at  once  assumed  a  manner  of  pro- 
found admiration.  Indeed,  he  professed  himself 
from  the  first  moment  hopelessly  enamored  and 
poured  forth  a  profusion  of  gallant  speeches. 

"  As  for  me,  I  gave  him  all  the  deference  of 
a  loyal  subject,  but  my  attitude  never  was  other 
than  that  which  I  expressed  when  I  told  him, 
'It  may  be,  Sire,  that  I  am  not  high-born 
enough  to  be  your  wife,  but  for  aught  else  I 
am  not  low-born  enough.' " 

"  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  sentiment !  "  Gabrielle 
exclaimed  with  rapture. 
242 


King  or  Knave 

"  Then  he  hinted  of  a  marriage,  after  a  di- 
vorce should  set  him  free.  Whereupon  I  only 
laughed,  for  I  have  heard  that  he  is  prodigal  of 
such  promises.  They  cost  him  nothing,  while 
there  are  those  who  are  foolish  enough  to  be- 
lieve them." 

In  spite  of  a  strong  effort  to  look  indifferent, 
Gabrielle  paled  and  was  conscious  of  a  move- 
ment of  the  muscles  of  her  face. 

"But  he  is  not  easily  rebuffed.  When  he 
moved  on  northward,  I  fancied  that,  with  the 
army  of  the  League  close  at  his  heels  and  his 
crown  and  life  in  peril,  I  should  quickly  be 
driven  out  of  his  thoughts.  Nothing  of  the  kind  ! 
Imagine  him  writing  to  me  from  the  trenches  at 
Arques,  —  no  doubt  on  the  very  eve  of  battle,  for 
the  same  messenger  brought  the  tidings  of  his 
amazing  victory.  Hold  !  I  will  read  it  to  you." 

She  rose  and  went  to  an  escritoire,  unlocked 
a  drawer  and  took  out  a  package  of  letters. 
Meanwhile  Gabrielle  made  prodigious  efforts 
to  control  her  features  and  assume  an  air  of 
cheerful  indifference. 

Her  hostess  seated  herself,  took  a  letter  out 
of  the  package,  and  read  as  follows,  — 

"My  mistress  —  " 

"  The  audacious  wretch  to  address  you  thus!" 

Madame  de  Guercheville,  amazed  at  such  an 
expression  applied  to  her  sovereign,  but  secretly 
pleased  notwithstanding,  looked  reprovingly  at 
her  hearer,  then  continued  her  reading,  "  I 
write  you  this  word  on  the  eve  of  a  battle.  The 
243 


King  or  Knave 

issue  is  in  the  hands  of  God  who  has  already 
ordained  what  it  is  to  be  and  who  knows  what 
is  expedient  for  His  glory  and  for  the  well-being 
of  my  people.  If  I  lose  it,  you  will  never  see 
me  again,  for  I  am  not  the  kind  of  man  to  run 
away.  But  if  I  die,  my  penultimate  thought  will 
be  of  you,  my  last  of  God,  to  whom  I  commend 
you  —  "  ("Wretch  ! "  thought  Gabrielle.  "  How 
much  sweeter  and  tenderer  is  that  letter  than 
the  one  which  he  wrote  to  me  from  the  same 
place  !  ")  "  From  the  hand  of  him  who  kisses 
yours  and  who  is  your  servant  while  life 
endures.  HENRY." 

The  elder  lady  looked  at  the  younger.  There 
was  a  bright  spot  in  either  cheek,  and  her  eyes 
glittered  with  suppressed  anger.  Her  emotion 
was  too  vehement  to  be  simulated  or  to  be 
hidden. 

"  Do  I  weary  you,  child,  or  would  you  care 
to  hear  more?" 

"  Surely,  Madame,  I  find  your  story  deeply 
interesting." 

"  I  paid  no  heed  to  the  letter,  but,  neverthe- 
less, one  day  there  came  another.  Ah !  here 
it  is." 

As  she  took  up  the  second,  she  passed  over 
the  first  to  Gabrielle,  with  the  remark,  "  There  ! 
You  may  see  how  a  king  writes  when  he  plays 
the  fool." 

To  Gabrielle  how  familiar  was  that  hand- 
writing ! 

244 


King  or  Knave 

Then  her  hostess  read  aloud.  The  letter  was 
couched  in  the  usual  impassioned  language  and 
ended  with  the  words,  — 

My  universe,  love  me  as  he  who  will  adore  you  to 
the  tomb,  loves  you.  On  the  truth  of  this  I  kiss  a 
million  times  your  white  hands. 

HENRY. 

With  suppressed  fury  Gabrielle  listened 
through  to  the  end.  To  her  how  familiar  were 
these  phrases !  How  many  millions  of  times 
had  her  white  hands  been  kissed  on  paper ! 
The  perfidious  creature ! 

Madame  de  Guercheville  finished  her  reading 
and  looked  fixedly  at  her  hearer.  She  was  pale, 
her  eyes  glittering,  her  features  rigid. 

"  I  call  it  an  infamy,"  she  burst  out,  "  that 
he  takes  advantage  of  his  kingly  position  to 
thrust  his  attentions  on  a  lady  who  declines 
them." 

"  You  would  think  that  I  sufficiently  discour- 
aged them,  would  you  not?  And  yet  there  is 
more  to  tell,  the  boldest  stroke  of  all. 

"  One  day,  a  few  weeks  ago,  he  was  hunting 
in  the  forest  in  this  vicinity.  Purposely,  I  think, 
he  found  himself,  at  evening,  separated  from  his 
courtiers  and  far  from  any  habitation  suitable 
for  his  entertainment,  except  this.  Then  he 
sent  a  gentleman  to  me  to  say  that  he  craved 
the  favor  of  a  night's  lodging.  Of  course,  I 
sent  him  a  message  of  welcome. 

"  How  was  I  to  meet  such  an  emergency? 
245 


King  or  Knave 

You  shall  hear.  The  time  was  short,  but  I  made 
prodigious  exertions  to  give  him  a  truly  royal 
reception.  I  ordered  a  feast  prepared.  I  sent 
out  and  invited  neighboring  gentlemen.  When 
the  King  arrived,  it  was  already  dark.  He 
found  the  chateau  blazing  with  lights.  He 
advanced  through  a  double  row  of  my  people 
holding  torches.  I  met  him  arrayed  in  my 
court  dress  and  my  jewels  and  attended  by  a 
group  of  gentlemen.  He  was  bewildered  by 
such  a  reception.  It  was  our  first  meeting  since 
his  great  victory,  and  probably  he  thought  that 
this  greeting  foreshadowed  his  success  with  me. 

'"What  do  I  see?'  he  exclaimed.  'Is  it 
indeed  you,  Madame?  And  am  I  that  once 
despised  king? ' 

"  I  led  him  within  and  to  the  door  of  the 
apartment  destined  for  him.  Then,  with  a  pro- 
found reverence,  I  withdrew.  A  little  later  he 
heard  that  I  had  descended  to  the  courtyard 
and  was  getting  into  my  coach.  He  rushed  out 
in  dismay. 

"  '  What,  Madame  !  Am  I  driving  you  from 
your  house?' 

"  '  My  house  is  yours,  Sire.  Wherever  a  king 
is,  he  should  be  supreme.  I,  too,  love  absolute 
power,  and  so,  while  you  reign  here,  I  shall  go 
where  I  shall  be  obeyed.' 

"  He  protested  vehemently,  but  nothing  could 
shake  my  resolution,  and  I  drove  away  to  a 
friend's  house,  leaving  him  to  partake  of  the  mag- 
nificent repast  which  I  had  prepared,  but  deny- 
246 


King  or  Knave 

ing  to  the  busy  court  gossips  the  feast  which 
otherwise  they  would  surely  have  enjoyed  at 
the  expense  of  my  good  name." 

"  Madame,  you  are  wonderful,"  exclaimed 
Gabrielle  with  genuine  admiration.  "Who  but 
you  would  have  thought  of  so  ingenious  a  way 
of  reconciling  your  duty  as  a  subject  with  your 
honor  as  a  woman  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  device  served  its  purpose  so  well 
that  it  relieved  me  of  the  King's  importunity. 
Until  he  came  here  two  days  ago  I  neither  saw 
nor  heard  more  of  him.  But  the  poor  man  is 
not  without  consolation.  He  is  not  of  a  nature 
to  pine  long.  You  know  of  his  latest  gallant 
enterprise  ?  " 

"What?  No!  I  —  "  stammered  Gabrielle, 
flushing,  and  then  turning  deadly  pale. 

"  Indeed  I  supposed  you  acquainted  with 
the  story,  since  it  concerns  a  kinswoman  of 
yours.  Pardon  me  for  intruding  on  delicate 
ground." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Gabrielle  immensely  relieved, 
"  do  not  give  yourself  any  concern  on  that 
score.  I  know  little  of  my  relatives.  There 
have  been  reasons  why  my  father  has  preferred 
that  I  should  know  as  little  of  them  as  possible." 
She  said  this  with  reference  to  the  notorious 
fact  that  the  reputation  of  her  female  kinsfolk 
on  the  maternal  side  was  uniformly  bad.  It  was 
safe  to  repudiate  them. 

"  Oh,  then  you  will  not  mind  my  story.    Marie 
de  Beauvilliers  is  your  cousin,  is  she  not?" 
247 


King  or  Knave 

"  Yes,  Madame.  Her  mother  was  my  mother's 
sister.  But  I  have  not  so  much  as  ever  seen 
her.  I  have  heard  of  her,  however,  as  a  little  — 
what  shall  I  say? — frivolous." 

"  '  Frivolous  '  is  a  somewhat  mild  description 
of  one  who  no  sooner  appeared  at  court  than 
she  was  enrolled  in  the  Queen  Mother's  Flying 
Squadron." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  exclaimed  Gabrielle,  with 
well-feigned  horror,  though  the  circumstance 
was  well  known  to  her. 

"  On  account,  perhaps,  of  her  inclination  to  a 
life  of  pleasure,  her  family  seem  to  have  thought 
her  safer  in  monastic  seclusion  than  amid  the 
temptations  of  the  great  world.  At  all  events, 
she  took  the  white  veil  and  professed  religion  in 
the  Benedictine  convent  of  Montmartre.  Imme- 
diately she  was  made  Abbess  Coadjutrix  of  the 
institution." 

"What?  Impossible,  Madame!  She  is  but 
a  child.  I  know  her  age,  since  we  have  at 
Coeuvres  a  record  of  all  the  branches  of  the 
family.  She  is  two  years  younger  than  I,  and, 
as  you  know,  I  am  but  eighteen." 

"  These  things  are  done,  my  dear,  when  one 
has  high  influence.  And  so  it  came  to  pass 
that  this  young  lady  who  found  herself  in  a  con- 
vent neither  because  of  penitence  nor  of  piety, 
but  because  her  family  willed  it  so,  was  set  to 
be  an  example  of  godliness  and  devotion  and  to 
rule  women,  many  of  greater  age  than  her 
mother.  Perhaps,  however,  in  spite  of  the 
248 


King  or  Knave 

deadly  tedium  of  the  conventual  life  for  one 
whose  heart  was  In  the  world,  the  young  abbess 
would  have  deported  herself  decently  and  avoided 
public  scandal,  had  it  not  chanced  that  she  was 
thrown  in  the  King's  way.  Last  autumn,  when 
he  assailed  Paris  —  " 

"  Pardon  me  for  interrupting  you,  Madame. 
You  have  not  mentioned  the  Countess  de  Guiche. 
Since  my  childhood  I  have  always  heard  La  Belle 
Corisande's  name  mentioned  with  that  of  the 
King  of  Navarre.  I  thought,"  she  added,  with 
great  appearance  of  simplicity,  "  that  it  was 
likely  to  be  a  life  long  relation,  a  sort  of 
marriage." 

"  What  are  you  dreaming,  child?  A  life-long 
relation  with  a  man  to  whom  a  new  love  is  less 
of  a  novelty  than  a  new  coat,  for,  sooth  to  say, 
it  is  more  easily  had.  A  coat  costs  money,  of 
which  he  has  little  enough :  a  new  love  may  be 
had  for  words." 

"  Not  always,  surely,  Madame,  as  you  have 
yourself  proved." 

"  It  is  rarely  otherwise,  when  the  words  are  a 
king's.  But  let  me  answer  your  question  about 
the  Countess  de  Guiche.  Her  sun  has  set. 
Poor  soul,  it  was  not  her  fault  that,  as  she  grew 
older,  —  for  she  is,  if  I  mistake  not,  two  or  three 
years  older  than  he,  —  she  became  stout  and 
red-faced  and  her  skin  coarse.  It  was  a  fatal 
fault  in  the  eyes  of  one  who  values  beauty 
supremely  and  whose  taste  inclines  more  and 
more  to  the  girlish  type.  Time  and  separation 
249 


King  or  Knave 

effected  the  rest.  And  La  Belle  Corisande,  in 
spite  of  all  her  devotion  to  him,  through  the 
years  of  his  obscurity  and  adversity,  and  her 
sacrifices  for  the  cause,  was  forgotten." 

"  Infamous  ingrate  !  " 

"  A  cheerless  outlook,  you  will  doubtless 
think,  for  the  next  comer.  It  was  enough  for 
him,  in  this  condition  of  mind,  to  encounter 
fresh  and  youthful  charms.  His  heart  was  like 
the  sere  grass  of  autumn,  which  a  spark  sets  in 
a  blaze." 

"  And  yours,  Madame,  were  the  bright  eyes 
that  set  it  afire." 

"  Oh !  my  faith,  no,"  laughed  the  beautiful 
marchioness  with  a  dazzling  show  of  her  white 
teeth,  "  his  alleged  infatuation  for  me  was  too 
brief  and  too  sharply  checked  for  me  to  be 
counted  in  at  all.  No,  the  next  serious  affair 
was  that  of  which  your  cousin  was  the  heroine. 

"  When  the  King  assailed  Paris  last  autumn, 
before  the  attack  on  the  faubourg  of  Mont- 
martre,  the  abbess  of  the  convent  of  Benedictine 
nuns  sent  a  message  to  him  imploring  a  guard 
for  the  protection  of  the  house.  He  readily 
sent  one.  After  his  troops  had  carried  the 
suburb,  thinking  to  wile  away  an  idle  half-hour, 
he  went  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  abbess.  Imag- 
ine his  surprise  when,  instead  of  a  venerable 
dame,  he  found  your  young  and  beautiful 
cousin,  her  eyes  alight  with  the  love  of  pleasure, 
presiding  over  the  sober  flock !  Their  admira- 
tion, it  seems,  was  mutual  from  the  first.  He 
250 


King  or  Knave 

paid  immediate  homage  to  her  charms.  She 
replied  with  compliments  to  his  valiant  achieve- 
ments and  with  raillery  at  the  expense  of  his 
fat  and  slow  adversary.  What  her  eyes  had 
begun  her  wit  completed  —  " 

"  The  wretch !  "  At  that  moment  how  she 
hated  her  cousin ! 

"  Soon  his  Majesty  was  deeply  enamored. 
And  she,  it  seems,  was  as  fast  in  the  toils  as  he. 
Her  passionate  longing  for  the  gay  world  drew 
her  towards  him  as  if  they  had  been  born  for 
each  other.  So  they  talked  on,  their  eyes  flash- 
ing messages  of  sympathy  which  they  could  not 
utter  in  words,  since  others  were  within  hearing. 
Suddenly  there  was  an  alarm.  The  vanguard 
of  the  army  of  the  League  was  entering  Paris 
on  the  North  side.  The  King  must  hurry  away. 
Reluctantly  he  tore  himself  from  his  fascinating 
hostess.  But  in  the  moment  of  their  parting 
they  exchanged  meaning  glances.  That  night 
there  was  a  clatter  of  hoofs  under  the  convent 
windows.  The  guard  had  been  withdrawn,  and 
the  poor  nuns  looked  out  in  terror.  Imagine 
their  dismay,  when  they  saw  a  group  of  men 
clustered  about  the  door  and  clamoring  for 
admission  !  They  had  heard  frightful  stories  of 
the  sack  of  convents,  and  they  imagined  a  terri- 
ble fate  awaiting  them.  Then  there  was  parley- 
ing in  an  undertone  through  the  grating  of  the 
door,  and  while  they  still  awaited  developments 
with  trembling,  a  cloaked  figure  of  a  woman 
came  forth  and  was  lifted  to  a  horseman's 
251 


King  or  Knave 

crupper.  Then  the  troop  rode  away.  The 
good  souls  were  filled  with  admiration  for  their 
young  abbess,  when  it  was  rumored  that  she 
had  offered  herself  as  a  sacrifice,  on  condition 
that  the  convent  be  spared." 

"  Shameless  hypocrite  !  " 

"  But  their  opinions  changed,  when  they 
heard  that  she  was  at  Tours,  his  Majesty's  head- 
quarters, had  thrown  off  her  ecclesiastical  habit, 
and  was  shining  as  the  brightest  ornament  of 
the  royal  household." 

"  What  unspeakable  wickedness  !  Only  two 
monsters  of  profligacy  could  do  such  a  thing. 
Think  of  his  abducting  a  religieuse !  Does  she 
remain  with  him  ?  " 

"  For  some  time  she  did.  But  lately  I  have 
heard  that,  in  consequence  of  the  scandal  and 
the  indignation  of  good  Catholics,  he  had  sepa- 
rated himself  from  her  and  had  sent  her  away 
to  Senlis." 

There  was  little  more  said.  Madame  de 
Guercheville  was  well  pleased  with  the  result  of 
the  conversation.  Gabrielle's  expressions  of 
virtuous  indignation  left  no  doubt  of  her  high 
ideal  of  feminine  honor.  Most  of  all  was  the 
marchioness  pleased  with  the  feeling  she  had 
aroused  against  Henry.  It  would  effectually 
obliterate  any  sentiment  of  admiration  which 
an  inexperienced  girl  might  possibly  entertain 
towards  her  picturesque  sovereign. 

Gabrielle  left  the  room  smiling  and  curtseying 
to  her  hostess,  as  etiquette  demanded.  In  her 
252 


King  or  Knave 

chamber  she  found  Lisette  making  a  show  of 
being  busy. 

"  Go  away.  I  do  not  want  you,"  she  said 
petulantly. 

Then  she  threw  herself  down  and  gave  way 
to  her  feelings  in  a  passionate  burst  of  tears. 
How  humiliating  was  her  situation  !  Of  course 
Madame  de  Guercheville's  story  was  intended 
for  her  benefit.  How  much  did  she  suspect? 
Certainly  she  knew  nothing.  But  the  lesson 
had  been  given  so  kindly  it  was  impossible  to 
resent  it.  Henry  was  the  object  of  her  wrath. 
He  had  dared  to  trifle  with  her  !  All  the  while 
he  was  wooing  her  with  passionate  phrases,  he 
was  making  love  to  other  women,  especially 
that  infamous  cousin  of  hers.  And  the  offer  of 
marriage  of  which  she  had  made  so  much  in 
her  castle-building,  he  had  freely  tendered  to 
other  women.  The  perfidious  creature  !  Who 
could  trust  such  a  man  ?  While  she  had  been 
dreaming  at  Cceuvres  in  fancied  security,  her 
dearest  hopes  had  been  constantly  imperilled 
through  his  fickleness. 

Then  a  reassuring  thought  came  to  her.  She 
would  see  him  that  night.  Whatever  might 
have  been  in  the  past,  the  future  was  before  her. 
This  was  her  grand  opportunity.  She  must  not 
fail  to  use  it  aright.  There  must  be  no  senti- 
ment. She  must  act  with  shrewdness  and  nerve. 
She  must  sound  him,  probe  his  heart,  ascertain 
his  real  sentiments,  and,  if  she  found  her  hold 
on  him  as  strong  as  she  believed  that  she  had 
253 


King  or  Knave 

made  it  by  her  past  denials,  she  must  bind  him 
irrevocably.  She  must  play  a  bold  and  strong 
hand  that  night. 

With  this  resolve,  she  rose,  washed  the  traces 
of  tears  from  her  face,  and  shortly  returned  to 
her  hostess  with  her  habitual  smile. 


254 


CHAPTER  THE   TWENTY-FIRST 

How  Gabrielle  meets  the  Fleur-de-lis  secretly  and,  dazzled 
by  its  brilliancy,  makes  a  fool's  bargain,  whereupon 
she  is  much  elated  at  her  shrewdness. 

THE  next  evening  all  was  dark  and  still,  when 
the  two  women,  hooded  and  muffled  against  the 
cold,  stole  softly,  candle  in  hand,  down  the  stair- 
way into  the  chapel. 

It  certainly  was  not  such  a  trysting-place  as 
an  ardent  lover  would  have  selected.  It  had 
long  been  disused,  and  a  melancholy  air  of 
neglect  pervaded  it.  The  feeble  rays  of  the 
candle  scarcely  more  than  revealed  the  walls  of 
panelled  oak,  black  with  age  and  heavily  over- 
laid with  dust,  and  the  grim  effigies  of  genera- 
tions of  knights  and  ladies  of  La  Roche-Guyon, 
whose  virtues  were  rehearsed  in  undecipherable 
inscriptions.  At  the  upper  end  the  altar  of 
stone,  long  since  stripped  of  its  furnishings, 
stood  rude  and  bare  as  its  primitive  prototype. 
Above  it  hung  against  the  wall  a  large  crucifix, 
coarsely  carved  in  wood,  black  with  time.  A 
musty  odor  filled  the  place,  and  the  air  was 
damp  and  piercingly  cold.  Without,  a  sharp 
wind  blew  and  shook  the  window-sashes  and 
255 


King  or  Knave 

grimy   diamond-shaped   panes   in   their  worm- 
eaten  casements. 

The  environment  suited  Gabrielle's  mood. 
She  had  come  in  no  light  vein,  but  in  a  most 
serious  and  business-like  frame  of  mind.  She 
looked  around,  therefore,  with  a  certain  degree 
of  satisfaction  upon  the  gloomy  and  almost 
sepulchral  aspect  of  the  place.  It  would  help 
to  redeem  the  meeting  from  any  possible  levity. 

While  the  two  women,  shivering,  were  cast- 
ing their  eyes  over  the  grim  memorials  which 
the  piety  of  by-gone  ages  had  reared,  a  light 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door.  Lisette  slipped 
back  the  bolt,  which  she  had  that  day  provi- 
dently oiled,  and  admitted  the  muffled  figure  of 
Henry. 

It  was  perhaps  the  strangest  love-meeting 
which  that  experienced  gallant  had  ever  taken 
part  in.  The  environment  certainly  was  the  re- 
verse of  sensuous,  and,  whatever  may  have  been 
his  own  temper,  he  was  soon  made  to  feel  that  his 
mistress  was  in  no  mood  for  sweet  dalliance.  In 
vain  he  signalled  imploringly  for  her  to  dismiss 
her  maid.  She  was  inexorable.  All  that  she 
would  concede  was  to  go  with  him  to  the  sanct- 
uary end  of  the  room,  leaving  Lisette  shivering 
and  hugging  herself  near  the  door. 

She  set  the  candle  on  the  altar  and,  facing 
him,  said  briskly,  "Now,  will  your  Majesty  be 
pleased  to  be  quick?  I  cannot  long  endure  this 
deadly  cold.  You  wrote  of  having  an  important 
communication  to  make.  What  is  it?  " 
256 


King  or  Knave 

"  Yes,  fair  Gabrielle,  my  heart  well-nigh  bursts 
to  utter  its  —  " 

"  Hold  !  If  you  please,  we  will  dispense  with 
these  pretty  phrases.  I  sufficiently  know  your 
bursting  heart.  Let  us  deal  with  facts.  Before 
we  go  a  step  further,  I  must  be  answered  on  one 
point."  She  fixed  him  with  a  stern  eye  and  set 
features  and  asked  in  a  low,  hard  voice,  "  Where 
is  the  Abbess  of  Montmartre,  whom  you  shame- 
fully abducted?" 

Henry  was  staggered.  He  had  not  dreamed 
that  this  incident  had  come  to  her  knowledge. 

"  With  her  parents,"  he  stammered. 

"  On  your  honor?  " 

"  I  swear  it,  Mademoiselle.  It  was  but  a  pass- 
ing whim,  an  illusion,  if  you  will,  and  I  quickly 
sent  her  away." 

"  You  mean  that  the  anger  of  your  Catholic 
gentlemen  compelled  you  to  part  with  her." 

"  Have  it  as  you  will,  Mademoiselle.  She  is 
gone.  Is  it  not  enough?" 

"  Enough  for  what?  Enough  to  assure  me  of 
your  constancy,  which  you  once  told  me  was 
your  only  vice,  and  of  which  your  letters  make 
incessant  boast,  those  letters  which  you  have 
dared  to  write  to  me  even  while  this  crime 
continued  ?  " 

Henry  hung  his  head  like  a  rated  school-boy. 

"  What  assurance,  more  binding,  mark  you ! 

than   your   word,    can    you    give    me    of  your 

future   constancy?      If  I   consent  to   listen   to 

you  again,  how  shall  I  know  that  I  am  not  to 

17  257 


King  or  Knave 

be  betrayed  for  the  next  pretty  face  you  may 
meet?" 

"I  have  it  here,  Mademoiselle,  all  ready,  the 
spontaneous  offering  of  my  heart,  in  a  form 
which  cannot  fail  to  satisfy  you  on  every  point. 
It  is  all  that  the  highest-born  lady  in  the  land 
could  ask  at  her  nuptials.  Listen  and  judge." 

While  saying  these  words,  he  eagerly  drew 
forth  and  spread  out  a  document.  Gabrielle 
shuddered  when  she  saw  that  it  was  written  in 
blood. 

They  talked  under  their  breath,  to  the  intense 
annoyance  of  Lisette,  who  strained  her  ears  to 
catch  what  she  could.  She  gathered  only  that 
her  mistress  was  speaking  very  sharply  and  the 
other  in  a  tone  of  humble  deprecation.  Now, 
when  she  saw  a  paper  produced,  she  was  furious. 
Evidently  something  quite  different  from  that 
which  she  had  wished  to  promote  was  afoot. 
Sidling  slyly  a  step  or  two  nearer,  and  with 
body  bent  towards  the  speakers,  she  stood  attent, 
eager  to  catch  the  purport  of  the  paper.  Only 
a  word  here  and  there  came  to  her  ears ;  but 
plainly  it  was  some  sort  of  agreement.  Was 
it  possible  that  he  was  giving  her  a  written 
pledge?  May  he  be  damned  to  the  bottom- 
less pit !  It  was  not  for  anything  like  this 
that  she  had  manoeuvred  to  bring  them  together 
in  secrecy  and  at  night. 

Meanwhile,  holding  the  document  with  his 
left  hand  close  to  the  candle,  while  with  his  right 
he  emphasized  the  leading  points  with  gestures, 
258 


King  or  Knave 

Henry  read  its  contents  in  a  low,  intense  tone, 
as  follows :  — 

"  IN  THE   NAME   OF   GOD   AMEN  ! 

"  We,  Henry,  by  the  grace  of  God  King  of  France 
and  Navarre,  do  promise  and  swear,  on  the  faith  of  a 
knight  and  the  word  of  a  king,  to  the  Mademoiselle 
Gabrielle  d'Estrees,  of  the  chateau  of  Coeuvres,  that, 
in  consideration  of  the  said  Mademoiselle  d'Estrees 
consenting  to  live  with  us  as  our  companion,  we  shall 
hold  ourselves  bound  to  her  and  to  her  only  during 
the  life  of  us  both,  as  if  a  marriage  had  been  duly 
solemnized  between  us ;  that  we  shall  accord  to  her 
full  recognition  and  honor  as  our  consort ;  and  that 
we  shall  bestow  on  her  a  title  and  an  estate  and 
maintenance  suitable  to  her  dignity. 

"  We  do  further  promise  and  swear  by  every  means 
in  our  power  to  seek  a  divorce  from  our  present  con- 
sort ;  in  order  that  the  way  may  be  open  for  a  lawful 
marriage  between  us  and  the  aforesaid  Mademoiselle 
d'Estrees  according  to  the  rules  of  her  Church,  to  be 
duly  and  publicly  solemnized,  and  that,  in  the  mean 
time,  we  shall  defend  her  good  name  and  honor 
against  all  the  world,  in  like  manner  as  if  she  were 
our  legal  spouse. 

"And  hereunto  on  the  Holy  Evangelists  we  do 
solemnly  swear.  HENRY." 

With  great  devoutness  he  recited  the  closing 
words,  lifting  his  right  hand  in  attestation. 

Gabrielle's  cheek  flushed  and  her  eye  bright- 
ened. Who  could  have  dreamed  that  things 
would  shape  themselves  so  exactly  according  to 
259 


King  or  Knave 

her  wishes?  But  in  an  instant  she  repressed 
every  sign  of  satisfaction.  Apparent  reluctance 
was  her  policy.  He  must  plead  hard  for  her 
consent.  Moreover,  she  missed  in  the  contract 
the  things  which  had  been  uppermost  in  her 
mind.  Gaston's  preferment  was  still  in  the  air, 
and  the  idea  of  binding  herself  to  Henry, 'in 
the  present  indecisive  stage  of  his  affairs,  was 
preposterous. 

She  drew  back  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Why  do  you  hesitate,  Gabrielle  ?  What  wife 
in  the  land  is  half  so  well  protected  ? "  urged 
Henry  in  low,  earnest  tones.  "  See  !  In  every 
point  your  well-being  and  honor  are  most  amply 
considered." 

Then  with  his  forefinger  he  followed  the  lines, 
expatiating  on  each  clause  with  impassioned 
earnestness. 

He  concluded,  "  There,  you  see,  is  every  feat- 
ure of  a  regular  marriage,  saving  the  Church's 
blessing,  which,  also,  I  solemnly  bind  myself  to 
obtain  at  the  earliest  possible  day.  And  what 
is  lacking  in  that  particular  I  make  up  by  my 
sacred  oath  on  the  Holy  Evangelists." 

Still  Gabrielle  declined,  half  out  of  simulated 
reluctance,  half  because  she  felt  a  real  hesita- 
tion to  commit  herself  in  this  irrevocable  way. 
Besides,  she  had  a  lurking  distrust  of  this  agree- 
ment. Could  he  be  sincere  in  offering  so  much? 
Might  it  not  well  be  that  this  magnificent  con- 
cession was  a  Greek  horse  ?  She  took  the  docu- 
ment, scanned  it  carefully,  and  handed  it  back, 
260 


King  or  Knave 

shaking  her  head.  She  distrusted  so  much 
generosity. 

Henry  urged  his  supreme  argument,  "  See, 
Gabrielle !  The  good  God  assures  us  His  bless- 
ing. For  it  is  surely  Providence  that  has 
brought  about  this  meeting  in  this  sacred  place. 
Here,  before  the  altar,  I  give  you  my  troth  as 
solemnly  as  in  holy  matrimony.  No  priest 
could  make  this  engagement  more  binding  than 
I  freely  make  it  by  my  oath  as  a  Christian 
knight.  It  only  remains  for  you  to  do  the  like. 
Do  you  accept  me  as  your  spouse  in  the  sight 
of  God?" 

He  fixed  his  eyes  piercingly  on  her. 

A  brilliant  thought  came  to  her.  Why  not 
accept  this  contract  conditionally,  making  it 
binding  on  the  other  party,  but  dependent  for 
its  completion  on  her  own  will?  The  influence 
of  the  place,  too,  was  strong  upon  her.  She 
could  not  doubt  that  an  agreement  made  there 
had  a  peculiarly  solemn  character. 

Henry  read  wavering  in  her  eyes.  While 
once  more  she  scanned  the  paper,  he  bared  his 
arm,  pricked  it  with  his  dagger-point,  and,  pro- 
ducing a  pen,  dipped  it  in  the  blood.  Then  he 
thrust  the  quill  into  Gabrielle's  hand. 

She  spread  the  paper  on  the  altar  under  the 
eyes  of  the  carven  Christ  and,  pale  with  cold 
and  fright,  her  hand  shaking  and  her  teeth  chat- 
tering, guided  the  spluttering  pen  across  the 
page  in  an  almost  illegible  scrawl. 

When  she  had  finished,  Henry  caught  up  the 
261 


King  or  Knave 

paper  and  eagerly  read  her  addition.     His  face 
fell  with  keen  disappointment. 

"  Ah,  the  cruel  condition  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  had  written  beneath  the  words,  "  Ac~ 
cepted  and  agreed  to  by  me,"  which  he  had  pre- 
pared for  her  signature,  "  on  the  condition,  that 
my  brother  be  given  a  regiment  immediately, 
and  on  the  further  condition,  that  this  contract 
do  not  go  into  effect  until  his  Majesty  shall  have 
defeated  Monsieur  de  Mayenne  in  a  decisive 
engagement  and  broken  up  the  League." 

How  exasperating  was  this  obstacle  to  the 
realization  of  his  hopes !  In  vain  he  argued, 
pleaded,  coaxed.  She  was  inexorable.  On  that 
point  her  will  was  adamant.  She  would  not 
think  of  giving  herself  to  a  man  of  uncertain 
future,  king  by  right  though  he  might  be.  The 
one  thing  which  in  her  judgment  could  justify 
the  step  she  contemplated  was  his  success.  In 
the  mean  time  let  him  give  an  earnest  of  his 
intentions  by  at  once  promoting  Gaston. 

"  Those  are  the  terms  on  which  alone  I  am 
willing  to  sign,"  she  said  resolutely.  "  Will  you 
have  my  signature  ?  " 

Henry  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  nodded  a 
reluctant  assent.  She  took  the  pen. 

"I  have  sworn.  Will  not  you  swear?"  he 
asked. 

She  looked  up  to  the    crucifix,   bowed   her 
head  reverently,  crossed  herself  and  muttered 
some  words,  inaudible  to  the  other.     Then  she 
took  the  pen  and  wrote  her  signature* 
262 


King  or  Knave 

Lisette,  following  the  transaction  closely  from 
her  post  of  observation,  saw  herself  defeated, 
gnashed  her  teeth  and  stamped. 

Henry  would  fain  have  sealed  the  matrimonial 
compact  with  a  conjugal  kiss.  But  she  repelled 
him  very  curtly. 

"  Excuse  me.  Your  Majesty  seems  to  have 
forgotten  that  our  agreement  is  not  yet  in  force 
and  does  not  confer  any  immediate  privileges. 

"Who  keeps  this  paper?"  she  asked. 

"  It  is  yours  to  keep,  adorable  Gabrielle.  It 
is  your  title  to  the  half  of  France,"  said  Henry 
in  his  grandest  manner. 

This  bit  of  gasconade  caused  Gabrielle's  lip 
to  curl.  She  laughed  sarcastically.  "  That  re- 
minds me  of  the  absurd  extravagances  that 
you  addressed  to  me,  when  you  first  came  to 
see  me,  disguised  as  a  woodcutter.  How  ridic- 
ulous you  were,  to  be  sure  !  " 

Then  she  added  demurely,  "  May  I  exchange 
this  title  to  a  half  of  the  realm  for  just  one 
estate  in  immediate  possession?" 

Henry  winced  under  her  sarcasm,  but  held 
his  ground  bravely. 

"  Oh  !  "  he  said,  "  there  is  one  point  of  which 
we  have  not  spoken.  Have  you  no  curiosity  to 
know  what  your  name  will  be  ?  " 

"  What  does  your  Majesty  mean  ? "  asked 
Gabrielle,  in  sheer  astonishment. 

"  I  mean  your  name  as  a  married  lady,"  re- 
plied Henry.  "  Have  not  I  sworn  to  care  for  your 
honor  ?  It  would  argue  little  regard  for  propri- 
263 


King  or  Knave 

ety  and  small  concern  for  your  good  name,  if  I 
should  fail  to  provide  you  with  a  husband.  As 
a  married  lady,  you  will  enjoy  a  freedom  of 
action  and  an  immunity  from  scandal  which,  as 
a  single  woman,  you  could  not  expect.  Besides, 
in  the  estimation  of  the  most  censorious,  the 
noble  name  of  D'Estrees  will  thus  not  be 
tarnished." 

Strangely,  this  point  had  never  occurred  to 
Gabrielle.  Now  she  felt  her  cheeks  tingle  with 
shame  at  the  infamy  of  the  proposed  arrange- 
ment. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  dare  to  suggest  to 
me  to  marry  some  other  man,  with  the  delib- 
erate purpose  of  betraying  him  ? "  she  asked, 
eying  Henry  sternly. 

"  Only  a  marriage  of  convenience,  an  empty 
ceremony,  a  show  of  marriage,  without  any 
reality,"  Henry  pleaded  deprecatingly.  "  Pro- 
priety demands  some  concessions ;  and  in  your 
interest  I  have  planned  this  arrangement,  which 
will  give  you  the  cover  of  an  honorable  name 
and  the  freedom  which  only  a  married  lady  en- 
joys. So  soon  as  the  ceremony  is  over,  I  pack 
the  quasi  groom  off  to  a  distant  post." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  your  Majesty  has  been 
somewhat  premature  in  providing  a  nominal 
bridegroom  for  a  marriage  so  remote,"  said 
Gabrielle  haughtily.  "  It  may  be  that  his  ser- 
vices will  never  be  needed,  and  his  honorable 
name  run  no  risk  of  being  sullied,  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned." 

264 


King  or  Knave 

"  God  forbid  !  "  said  Henry  simply.  Evidently 
Gabrielle  was  in  no  mood  to  be  crossed. 

But,  though  she  would  not  admit  it,  she  was 
secretly  pleased  with  the  arrangement  —  should 
it  ever  be  needed.  It  was  quite  the  regular 
thing,  she  knew,  for  a  king's  mistress  to  be 
somebody's  wife. 

She  resumed,  "What  if  the  creature  should 
not  prove  so  submissive  as  you  expect,  and 
should  demand  —  his  rights?" 

"  Oh  !  that  danger,  believe  me,  is  well  guarded 
against  by  choosing  a  man  of  the  right  kind." 

"  And  could  a  creature  be  found  so  abject  as 
to  accept  such  infamy?" 

"He  has  been  found,  —  a  most  worthy  gentle- 
man of  Beauce,  and  immensely  rich,  but  a  trifle 
elderly  and  out  of  health.  Oh  !  he  will  not  give 
us  any  trouble  on  that  score.  There  is  nothing 
of  the  lover  in  Monsieur  de  Liancourt." 

Gabrielle's  eyes  blazed.  "  Do  you  mean  that 
this  shameful  scheme  is  actually  agreed  upon 
between  you?  And  have  you  dared  to  name 
me  to  this  wretch?" 

"  I  have  not  so  much  as  breathed  your  name, 
adorable  Gabrielle,  but  only  bound  this  gentle- 
man, in  consideration  of  certain  valuable  induce- 
ments, to  accept  the  wife  of  my  choice,  under 
the  terms  aforesaid,"  replied  Henry  meekly. 

She  was  appeased,  but  she  could  not  let  him 

off  so  easily.     As  a  parting  shot,  she  remarked, 

"  It   seems   that  your  Majesty  is   favored  with 

very   complaisant  friends.     Am  I  to  take  this 

265 


King  or  Knave 

worthy  gentleman  of  Beauce  —  what  is  his  name  ? 
Liancourt,  did  you  say?  as  a  type  of  the  circle 
in  which  you  invite  me  to  move  ?  " 

The  hero  of  Coutras  and  of  Arques  and 
Dieppe  winced,  but  meekly  held  his  tongue. 

"  Now  that  this  important  business  is  con- 
cluded," she  said  airily,  "  there  is  no  sense  in 
our  lingering  in  this  deadly  cold.  I  am  ready 
to  dismiss  your  Majesty." 

Henry  took  his  imperious  mistress's  command 
in  good  part.  Kissing  her  hand,  he  whispered, 
"  Within  a  few  days  I  shall  take  Dreux.  That 
done,  I  shall  chase  Mayenne  into  a  corner  and 
crush  him  and  his  League.  Then,  beautiful  one, 
the  happiest  man  in  France  will  hasten  to  your 
feet.  Else  I  die  on  the  field.  Either  I  return  to 
you  victorious,  or  you  will  never  see  me  more." 

Gabrielle  smiled  coldly  incredulous  and  turned 
away,  while  Lisette,  nearly  frozen  and  utterly 
enraged,  opened  the  door  for  the  departing 
lover. 


266 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-SECOND 

How  the  Last  Enemy  of  All  appears  as  Jean 
Fourcadis  friend. 

ONE  bright,  frosty  morning  Fourcade  sat 
moodily  in  front  of  the  fire  in  his  lodging. 
A  sense  of  the  helplessness  of  his  position  op- 
pressed him.  More  than  two  weeks  had  passed 
beyond  the  time  within  which  his  messenger 
should  have  returned.  Still  he  came  not. 

The  blast  of  a  horn,  followed  by  the  eager 
yelping  of  hounds,  startled  him  from  his  reverie. 
From  his  window,  which  looked  on  the  village 
street,  he  saw  a  hunting  party  coming  down  the 
hill,  in  all  the  bravery  of  gay  attire  and  the 
pomp  of  the  chase,  with  clanking  of  steel  and 
the  sharp  ring  of  horses'  hoofs  on  the  frosty 
air. 

The  most  conspicuous  figure  was  that  of  Made- 
moiselle de  Rebours,  who  rode  attended,  as  usual, 
by  her  enamored  cavalier.  Her  costume  was 
perfect.  A  close-fitting  habit  of  blue  cloth, 
trimmed  with  silver  emblems  of  the  chase,  set 
off  admirably  her  fine  form.  From  a  baldric  of 
embroidered  silk  hung  an  exquisite  toy  bugle 
of  silver  studded  with  emeralds,  the  latest  gift 
267 


King  or  Knave 

of  young  TreVille.  Her  abundant  hair,  like  shin- 
ing bronze,  was  swept  back  and  gathered  into 
a  Grecian  knot  and  covered  by  a  velvet  cap 
of  the  same  color  as  her  habit.  The  cap  was 
secured  by  a  pin  the  sight  of  which  sent  a 
pang  to  Fourcade's  heart.  Its  device  was  a 
lion's  head,  holding  a  stone  in  its  mouth. 

Sitting  her  horse,  a  bright  chestnut  Spanish 
barb,  with  easy  mastery,  she  reined  him  in  and 
flicked  him  with  her  riding-whip.  The  spirited 
animal  pranced  and  curveted,  while  her  haughty 
eye  glanced  disdainfully  over  the  humble  folk 
clustered  in  the  street  or  hanging  out  of  window, 
to  see  the  lordly  pageant  go  by. 

The  spectacle  of  this  woman's  insolent  triumph 
in  the  hour  of  his  deep  depression  was  more  than 
he  could  endure.  The  narrowness  of  his  lodg- 
ing fretted,  and  the  keen  morning  air  invited 
him.  He  seized  a  staff  and  went  forth. 

Nature  at  once  stimulated  and  soothed  him. 
He  took  another  direction  than  that  of  the 
hunting-party.  Soon  the  occasional  note  of  the 
horn  became  faint,  then  died  away.  He  was  be- 
yond the  reach  of  all  that  recalled  that  hated 
woman. 

He  wandered  on  and  on,  fascinated  with  the 
reviving  vigor  and  calm  strength  of  Nature. 
In  this  atmosphere  his  mind  seemed  clearer 
and  more  dispassionate  than  when  he  was  fretted 
by  the  sights  and  sounds  of  Usson.  Nature's 
order  and  repose  renewed  his  confidence  in  the 
eternal  Right.  A  purpose  was  shaping  itself  in 
268 


King  or  Knave 

his  mind.  If,  within  two  days  more,  he  should 
receive  no  tidings  from  his  master,  he  would  seek 
the  parish  priest,  lay  his  case  before  him,  and 
invoke  his  help.  At  the  worst,  he  could  but  fail. 
But  the  mien  of  the  man  and  his  general  repute 
inspired  him  with  confidence.  This  decision 
gave  him  great  relief,  and  he  turned  his  face 
homeward  with  a  sense  of  new  strength. 

The  winter  sun  was  low  in  the  sky,  when  he 
approached  the  village.  He  paused  on  a  little 
eminence  overlooking  it  and  mused.  Opposite 
him  was  the  castle,  its  walls  and  turrets  lighted 
by  the  setting  sun,  while  at  its  foot,  in  the 
shadow,  clustered  the  red  roofs  of  the  village, 
mellow  in  the  purple  light. 

How  peaceful  and  beautiful  was  the  scene ! 
Those  roofs  and  towers,  lifting  themselves  from 
the  shadowed  valley  into  the  glorious  sunlight, 
might  have  been  battlements  of  the  Heavenly 
City. 

With  that  scene  before  him,  Fourcade  could 
entertain  no  bitter  or  vengeful  feeling.  How 
many,  he  reflected,  are  like  rudderless  ships, 
tossed  helpless  by  mighty  forces  that  launched 
them,  freighted  with  ancestral  vices,  on  the  per- 
ilous ocean  of  existence,  and  that  fling  them 
hither  and  thither,  the  sport  of  the  winds ! 
Without  Sophie,  would  he  be  better  than  one 
of  those  frivolous  revelers? 

Perhaps,  if  he  knew  it  all,  even  the  Rebours's 
story  would  move  his  pity.  An  orphaned  child- 
hood, it  might  be,  unsheltered  by  a  mother's 
269 


King  or  Knave 

care.  Then  the  depraving  influence  of  the  great, 
on  whom  she  depended.  Who  might  know 
what  struggles  she  had  made  against  the  first 
approach  of  evil;  in  what  insidious  guise  it 
had  sought  her ;  by  what  insensible  gradations 
she  had  sunk  into  a  career  of  intrigue;  and 
how  gradually  outraged  conscience  had  been 
stifled,  until  it  was  paralyzed? 

His  resolve  was  taken:  he  would  deal  with 
her  firmly,  exposing  and  thwarting  her  intrigue, 
but  without  rancor.  The  holy  calm  of  the  even- 
ing had  banished  revenge  from  his  heart  and 
left  only  a  steadfast  purpose. 

Just  as  the  sun  sank  behind  the  western  hills, 
and  its  last  ray  tipped  with  gold  the  topmost 
towers  of  Usson,  a  single  stroke  of  a  bell 
rolled  'slow  and  solemn  on  the  still  air.  A 
pause,  then  another  mournful  stroke.  It  was 
the  church  bell  tolling  for  a  passing  soul.  In- 
voluntarily Fourcade  uncovered  and  breathed  a 
silent  prayer  that  God  would  speed  the  parting 
spirit  to  peace.  Then  he  resumed  his  way  into 
the  village,  calm  and  cheerful. 

He  noticed  signs  of  unusual  excitement. 
Here  and  there  people  were  talking  together 
eagerly  in  groups.  He  asked  what  it  meant. 
A  lady,  one  of  the  hunting-party,  fearfully  in- 
jured, had  been  carried  by  on  a  litter.  He  in- 
quired her  name.  None  knew.  But  a  woman 
spoke  up.  The  injured  person,  she  said,  was 
covered  by  a  great  cloak,  but  she  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  blue  robe  and  a  mass  of  bright 
270 


King  or  Knave 

hair.     A  choking  fear  seized  Fourcade.     Could 
it  be  she  ?     And  that  passing  bell ! 

What  if  by  delay  he  had  frittered  away  the 
golden  opportunity  which  Providence  had  placed 
in  his  way,  and  she  had  died,  with  his  secret 
locked  up  in  her  bosom? 

He  hurried  frantically  along  the  steep  street. 
He  asked  of  one  and  another  villager  the  name 
of  the  injured  lady.  None  knew.  Then  he  en- 
countered a  man  whose  dress  showed  him  to  be 
from  the  castle.  He  seized  him  by  the  arm  and 
hoarsely  demanded  her  name.  The  fellow  shook 
him  off  roughly,  with  the  insolence  of  his  class 
toward  the  village  folk. 

"What  does  that  concern  you,  clodhopper?" 

"  My  God  !  it  touches  my  life." 

The  varlet  gave  him  a  keen  look,  "Are  you, 
perchance,  the  stranger  whom  I  was  sent  to 
seek  here  to-day?" 

Fourcade  gasped,  "  What !  I  was  sent  for  ? 
By  whom?" 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Rebours,  surely.  By  whom 
else?"  growled  the  fellow.  "Some  time  after 
she  was  brought  in,  they  say  she  asked  to  see 
a  man  lodging  below  here,  a  stranger,  no  name 
given.  And  they  sent  me,  God's  blood  !  on  this 
fool's  errand,  to  find  a  man  whose  name  they 
did  not  know.  I  have  ransacked  this  whole 
dirty  kennel,  to  no  purpose.  Now  here  you 
come,  when  it  is  too  late." 

His  last  words   were  wasted.     Fourcade  was 
running  with  great  strides  up  the  hill. 
271 


King  or  Knave 

"  Come  back  !  Don't  you  hear?  She 's  dead, 
I  tell  you,  fool !  "  the  varlet  shouted  after  him. 
The  other  heeded  nothing. 

A  man  tried  to  detain  him.  Not  stopping  to 
recognize  him,  he  would  have  run  by.  The  man 
seized  him,  whispering  in  his  ear,  "What  ails 
you?  Don't  you  know  me,  comrade?" 

It  was  Gilles  Du  Pre  returned  from  his 
mission. 

"  She  sent  for  me —  sent  for  me — I  tell  you," 
said  Fourcade,  wrenching  himself  loose  from 
the  other. 

"  Here,  then.  Take  this,  madman.  You 
have  waited  long  enough  for  it,  God  knows." 

He  thrust  into  his  bosom  the  packet  which 
the  other  forced  on  him,  and  hurried  on  his  way 
to  the  castle. 

"  Ho,  there  !  Stand  back  !  "  cried  the  sentry, 
stepping  forward  from  the  darkness  of  the  arch- 
way and  bringing  his  pike  to  the  level  of  the 
intruder's  breast,  "Who  are  you?  And 
what 's  your  errand  ?  " 

"  Is  she  —  dead?     Truly  dead?" 

"Dead  as  the  salt  fish  of  Lent,  by  all  reports," 
said  the  soldier  stolidly ;  "  though,  faith  !  she 
was  alive  enough,  when  she  pranced  through  this 
gateway  this  morning.  And  a  merry  dance 
she  would  have  led  our  pretty  innocent,  if  the 
good  God  had  n't  taken  pity  on  him." 

Fourcade  reeled.  This  the  end  of  all  his 
waiting !  This  the  reward  of  his  patience  and 
his  faith  in  the  everlasting  Right!  While  he 
272 


King  or  Knave 

moralized,  she  was  slipping  away  into  eternity, 
leaving  his  life  blasted  !  Hold  !  Perchance  she 
had  left  some  message,  confided  to  some  one  the 
burden  of  her  guilty  soul,  as  she  faced  death. 

"  I  would  see  the  Queen  of  Navarre,"  he  said 
hoarsely.  "  I  am  the  man  whom  they  sought  in 
the  village  to-day." 

"  Baptiste  !  "  called  the  sentry  to  a  soldier 
who  came  forth  from  the  guard-room,  yawning 
and  stretching  himself,  "  here  comes  a  bump- 
kin who  wants  to  see  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 
Says  he 's  the  one  they  made  such  a  pother 
about  to-day." 

By  this  time  the  varlet  who  had  been  in 
search  of  Fourcade  came  up,  breathless  and 
swearing. 

"  Pass  this  idiot  in  with  me,"  he  said.  "  For 
all  that  he's  too  late,  I'll  take  him  to  the 
Queen." 

Fourcade  followed  his  guide  through  the 
archway  across  the  court-yard,  up  a  flight  of 
winding  stairs,  along  a  corridor,  and  into  a 
small  room  fitted  up  as  a  boudoir. 

In  a  few  moments  the  Queen  of  Navarre 
entered. 

Great  changes  had  befallen  this  woman  of 
many  loves.  An  evil  life  had  stamped  its  damn- 
ing marks  upon  her,  and  he  saw  scarcely  a  trace 
of  her  once  fatal  beauty.  Was  this  stout,  over- 
dressed woman,  with  her  flabby  cheeks,  her 
puffed  eyelids,  her  hair  stained  from  its  natural 
brown  to  a  meretricious  yellow,  and  her  face  pale 
18  273 


King  or  Knave 

with  fright,  save  where  the  paint  lay  in  patches, 
—  was  this  the  Marguerite  of  Valois  whom,  in 
the  zenith  of  her  youthful  charms,  he  had  seen 
married  to  his  master? 

She  looked  wonderingly  at  him.  He  bowed. 
"  Do  you  recognize  Jean  Fourcade  ?  "  he  asked 
in  a  low  tone. 

At  the  familiar  voice  she  started  and  clasped 
her  hands. 

"  My  God  !  Is  it  indeed  you  ?  And  are  you, 
Jean  Fourcade,  the  stranger  whom  my  poor 
Angelique  so  piteously  asked  to  see,  before  she 
died?  Oh!  I  remember  —  I  remember  —  "and 
she  gazed  at  him  intently,  clasping  her  hand 
against  her  forehead,  as  if  some  vague  memory 
connected  these  two  persons  in  her  mind. 

Fourcade  listened  breathlessly.  But  she 
seemed  unable  to  catch  the  thread  of  associa- 
tion and  only  looked  in  his  face  with  an  expres- 
sion of  vague  questioning. 

"  Did  she  —  did  she  give  you  any  message, 
any  word,  for  me?"  he  faltered. 

"  Not  a  word,  not  a  syllable." 

Fourcade  tottered  to  a  chair.  Everything 
reeled  around  him.  All  was  dark,  his  last  hope 
gone. 

"  Stay !  I  have  an  idea,"  said  the  Queen, 
and  she  hastily  left  the  room. 

She  quickly  returned,  accompanied  by  the 
faithful  parish  priest  of  Usson. 

"  This  is  he,"  she  said,  pointing  to  Fourcade. 

The  priest  looked  at  him  with  keen  scrutiny 
274 


King  or  Knave 

and  then  bowed  stiffly  to  the  Queen  and  said, 
"  I  must  beg  your  Majesty  to  do  me  the  favor 
of  leaving  us  alone." 

When  the  door  was  closed,  he  turned  on 
Fourcade  the  same  penetrating,  but  not  un- 
kindly, glance. 

"  Your  name  is  —  " 

"  Jean  Fourcade." 

The  priest  nodded.     "  And  you  serve  —  " 

"  Formerly  the  King  of  Navarre,  now  King 
Henry  the  Fourth." 

The  priest  frowned  and  pressed  his  lips 
together,  but  nodded  again. 

"You  knew  the  lady  who  has  died  here 
to-day?" 

f<  I  knew  Mademoiselle  de  Rebours,  alas !  too 
well." 

"  Had  you  aught  to  complain  of  at  her 
hands?" 

"  That  wretched  woman,  Father,  —  God  keep 
me  from  speaking  of  the  dead  one  word  beyond 
the  bare  truth  !  —  has  blasted  my  happiness  by 
a  cruel  lie." 

The  priest  raised  his  hand  deprecatingly,  but 
nodded  again. 

"  You  have  been  hereabouts  some  time.  I 
have  seen  you  in  the  village.  Why  have  you 
not  earlier  made  somebody,  myself  for  example, 
acquainted  with  your  story?" 

"  Consider  the  circumstances,  Father.  I  have 
been  alone  among  strangers.  Nobody  would 
have  believed  my  statement,  unsupported.  I 
275 


King  or  Knave 

have  waited  for  proofs.  They  have  even  now 
reached  me."  And  he  drew  forth  the  packet 
brought  by  Du  Pr6,  its  seal  unbroken. 

"  Hold !  "  said  the  priest  quickly.  "  It  is 
needless.  You  have  said  enough  to  convince 
me  that  you  are  he  whom  I  seek.  Now  listen 
to  me.  A  strange  thing  has  happened.  The 
great  God  has  interposed  marvellously,  to  right 
your  wrong." 

Fourcade  caught  the  back  of  a  chair  and 
steadied  himself. 

The  priest  continued,  "  You  have  had  reason 
to  feel  bitterly  toward  the  Church.  She  has 
been  made  the  innocent  abettor  of  a  great  crime. 
Now  it  is  her  privilege  to  undo  the  wrong. 
That  unhappy  woman,  in  the  mercy  of  God,  had 
opportunity  of  repentance  and  yielded  to  the 
Church's  discipline.  I  shall  not  detail  by  what 
steps  she  was  led  to  a  full  confession.  Enough 
that  she  could  receive  no  absolution,  save  on 
condition  of  making  complete  reparation.  You 
were  sent  for,  that,  in  the  presence  of  witnesses, 
she  might  avow  the  wrong  she  had  done  you. 
You  were  nowhere  to  be  found.  Then  I  received 
her  dying  commission  to  take  all  steps  needful 
for  your  vindication." 

Fourcade  could  find  no  words,  so  strange  and 
sudden  was  the  turn  of  affairs. 

The   priest   continued    in   the    same    incisive 

manner,   "  Trust   me.     No   words    are    needed. 

I  know  all.     The  Church  will  use  her  power  to 

restore  to  you  her  who  should  have  been  your 

276 


King  or  Knave 

wife.     Wait  you  here,  while    I  write  what  will 
be  needful."     Then  he  disappeared. 

Fourcade  sank  down  upon  a  chair,  speechless. 
With  what  startling  suddenness  the  clouds  had 
rolled  away!  Sweet  visions  of  Sophie  and  of 
bright  days  to  come  rose  before  him. 

His  meditation  was  interrupted  by  the  en- 
trance of  the  Queen  of  Navarre.  Pale  and  agi- 
tated, she  was  moving  about  the  castle  restlessly. 
It  was  a  relief  to  talk  to  Fourcade.  He  was  a 
link  connecting  the  present  with  a  brighter  past. 
She  told  him  the  story  of  the  day's  disaster. 

Mademoiselle  de  Rebours  had  ridden  forth 
that  morning  in  high  spirits  and  in  a  more  than 
commonly  reckless  mood.  At  one  point  the 
road  crossed  a  bridge  that  spanned  a  brook 
flowing  between  steep  banks.  Suddenly  leaving 
the  highway  and  her  companions,  she  cried, 
"  Follow  me,  who  dares !  "  There  were  shouts 
of  warning.  In  vain.  She  struck  her  horse 
sharply  with  the  whip  and  dashed  straight  for 
the  bank.  The  spirited  animal  rose  with  a 
mighty  effort  and  cleared  the  distance.  But 
the  opposite  bank,  loosened  by  frost,  gave  way 
under  his  hind  feet.  He  strove  with  violent 
plunges  to  gain  the  level  ground,  while  the  on- 
lookers cried  out  in  dismay,  then  toppled  back 
into  the  bed  of  the  brook  upon  his  hapless  rider. 

When  the  terrified  company  reached  the  spot, 

the   poor   beast,    trembling   and   snorting,   was 

struggling  to  his  feet  and  trampling  the  crushed 

form   lying   in   the    shallow  water.     From   her 

277 


King  or  Knave 

mouth  issued  a  stream  of  blood,  dabbling  her 
long  hair  hanging  in  disorder.  Mutilated  and 
dying,  she  was  borne  away  on  a  litter  of  boughs. 

"Would  you  see  her?"  Marguerite  asked 
presently. 

Fourcade  followed  his  guide  through  a  long 
corridor  to  a  room  at  the  door  of  which  stood 
an  attendant  on  guard. 

The  chamber  was  dark,  save  only  tall  candles 
burning  at  the  head  and  feet  of  the  dead.  Like 
alabaster  shone  the  face  and  the  taper  hands, 
clasped  over  a  shroud  of  black  velvet.  Under 
the  soothing  touch  of  death  the  haughty  features 
were  settled  in  an  expression  of  repose.  The 
abundant  tresses,  gleaming  like  burnished  cop- 
per, rolled  back  from  the  white  brow  and  gath- 
ered in  heavy  braids,  formed  a  cushion  on 
which  rested  the  head,  turned  a  little  aside,  as 
in  sleep.  Fair  as  a  beautiful  saint  chiselled  in 
marble,  peaceful  as  an  infant  hushed  on  its 
mother's  breast,  lay  Angdlique  de  Rebours. 

As  Fourcade  looked,  there  came  up  the 
memory  of  another  woman  whose  end  was 
sudden  and  violent.  The  livid  and  distorted 
features,  hanging  by  a  garter  in  a  squalid  garret, 
rose  before  him.  What  a  contrast !  Here  death 
was  robbed  of  half  its  terrors. 

Looking  on  that  face,  could  he  forget  how 
often  it  had  been  lighted  for  him  with  the  evil 
smile  of  triumphant  hate?  Even  plainer  she 
stood  before  his  mind's  eye  as  she  appeared  in 
that  last  interview,  humbly  suing  for  forgiveness. 
278 


King  or  Knave 

It  smote  him  that  he  had  refused  it.  But,  thank 
God  !  he  had  conquered  the  spirit  of  revenge, 
ere  she  died.  She  had  passed  away  forgiven. 
Did  she  know  it  now? 

A  slight  movement  called  his  attention  to  a 
figure  which  he  had  not  previously  observed.  It 
was  that  of  a  youth  sitting  with  his  head  buried 
in  his  hands,  while  at  times  his  body  heaved 
with  a  deep  shudder.  Poor  boy  !  A  great  grief 
had  suddenly  come  to  dignify  his  life.  Four- 
cade  noiselessly  retired. 

Presently  the  priest  entered.  There  was 
something  benign  and  paternal  in  his  manner, 
as  he  handed  to  Fourcade  a  sealed  letter,  saying, 
"  Take  this,  my  son,  and  go  your  way.  The  per- 
son to  whom  it  is  addressed  will  do  for  you  all 
that  I  should  under  like  circumstances  do.  I 
have  written  the  fullest  information  and  have 
made  a  request  which  will  not  be  disregarded." 

Fourcade  started.  The  letter  was  addressed 
to  the  Superior  of  the  convent  at  Auxerre  ! 

Sophie  was  there  then  !  .  He  had  not  erred  in 
his  conviction  that  her  self-abasement  would 
lead  her  to  seek  the  door  from  which  she  had 
once  turned  in  resentment.  But  that  stern 
ecclesiastic  —  what  could  he  expect  from  her? 

The  priest  noted  his  look  of  dismay.  "Never 
fear,"  he  said.  "  Difficulties  will  vanish.  The 
Church  charges  herself  with  righting  the  wrong 
you  have  suffered.  Go  in  faith  and  hope, 
nothing  doubting.  God  speed  you,  my  son, 
and  give  you  peace  !  "  Then  he  vanished. 
279 


King  or  Knave 

A  little  later  Fourcade  was  taking  leave  of  his 
master's  wife. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  she  said.  "  In  my  dis- 
tress I  have  almost  forgotten  something."  And 
she  left  the  room. 

Presently  she  returned  and  gave  him  a 
small  sealed  package  addressed  to  Mademoiselle 
Roberval. 

She  faltered,  "  She  gave  it  to  me  saying, 
'  Send  it  to  her  to  whom  it  belongs.  May  it  do 
her  as  much  good  as  it  has  done  me  harm  !  I 
wore  the  accursed  pin  for  the  first  time  to-day ; 
and  it  has  brought  me  to  my  death.' 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  continued,  speaking  low 
and  eagerly,  "  there  was  something  about  it  that 
I  cannot  understand?  Angelique  never  was 
superstitious.  Yet  she  acted  about  this  trifle  as 
if  the  sight  of  it  terrified  her.  At  her  bidding, 
I  had  unpinned  it  from  her  cap.  When  I  held  it 
up,  she  almost  shrieked,  '  Take  it  away !  Out 
of  my  sight !  How  it  glares  at  me  !  '  Then  she 
talked  of  a  load  on  her  mind,  and  she  was  in 
mortal  fear  of  dying  before  the  priest  should 
come." 

Fourcade  received  the  package  with  a  shud- 
der. Its  contents  he  easily  guessed,  and,  in 
spite  of  himself,  he  shrank  from  the  contact 
with  that  which  was  so  intimately  associated 
with  bitter  memories. 


280 


CHAPTER  THE   TWENTY-THIRD 

How  Gabrielle,  beginning  to  be  disenchanted,  rues  her 
bargain  and  is  exceeding  sore  and  sorrowful,  until 
she  is  comforted  by  the  coming  of  him  whom  she 
loves. 

THE  next  day  after  the  meeting  with  Henry 
in  the  chapel  Gabrielle  experienced  a  strong 
reaction.  Now  that  the  irrevocable  step  of 
binding  herself  by  oath  was  taken,  she  bitterly 
rued  it.  As  she  now  held,  the  compact  took 
away  her  freedom,  while  it  gave  her  nothing  sub- 
stantial in  return.  The  mere  contract  she  would 
have  had  no  hesitation  in  repudiating.  The  evi- 
dence of  it  was  in  her  possession,  and  she  would 
have  destroyed  it  without  compunction.  Or,  at 
all  events,  she  believed  that  she  would. 

But  there  was  the  oath !  That  bond  alone 
held  her  fast.  Repent  it  as  she  might,  that  ob- 
ligation was  registered  in  Heaven,  and  it  bound 
her  by  all  that  there  was  of  religion  in  her 
nature. 

All  that  she  could  hope  for  of  immediate  re- 
sult, in  return  for  the  freedom  she  had  surren- 
dered, was  her  brother's  advancement.  And 
that  point  had  so  shrunk  in  her  estimation,  in 
comparison  with  the  rest  at  stake,  that  she 
281 


King  or  Knave 

scarcely  desired  it.  Nay,  she  hoped,  almost 
prayed,  that  it  would  not  come  to  pass.  Fail- 
ing the  immediate  fulfilment  of  that  condition, 
she  would  be  at  liberty  to  repudiate  her  provi- 
sional consent  and  would  be  discharged,  in  the 
sight  of  God,  from  her  oath. 

Sick  and  sore  at  heart  she  was,  as  she  looked 
back  at  the  transaction  of  the  preceding  night. 
In  the  cold  light  of  day,  and  in  her  depressed 
state  of  mind,  she  was  amazed  that  she,  com- 
monly so  little  influenced  by  sentiment,  had 
been  led  to  take  part  in  an  affair  so  melodra- 
matic. As  she  recalled  the  strange  scene,  she 
could  almost  have  persuaded  herself  that  it  was 
a  dream,  so  unreal  it  seemed.  But  there  was 
the  writing,  ominously  traced  in  blood,  to  re- 
mind her  of  its  reality.  And,  more  than  all, 
there  was  the  memory  of  her  rash  oath.  How 
she  cursed  her  folly  in  being  so  easily  duped ! 

She  felt,  also,  an  intense  yearning  for  the 
friends  and  associations  of  her  childhood,  for 
the  innocence  and  purity  of  the  happy  years, 
ere  this  clandestine  intercourse  with  a  dishonor- 
able suitor  had  come  into  her  life. 

Naturally,  Louis  was  much  in  her  thoughts, 
since  he  stood  for  those  better  influences  from 
which  she  had  now  perhaps  forever  sundered 
herself.  There  was  a  melancholy  pleasure  in 
recalling  his  appearance,  his  voice,  his  manner, 
his  sentiments,  all  expressing  the  true,  generous, 
high-souled  man.  She  only  now  realized  that 
she  deeply  loved  him,  and  that  all  her  recent 
282 


King  or  Knave 

course  was  an  outrage  against  that  love  and 
against  herself. 

Unquestionably  the  influence  of  Madame  de 
Guercheville  was  a  powerful  factor  in  producing 
this  reaction.  In  some  way  unaccountable  to 
Gabrielle,  this  lady  had  made  her  feel  that  the 
ideals  which  she  cherished  were  contemptible. 
Her  sweet,  wholesome  womanliness  was  a  con- 
stant silent  rebuke  of  her  own  false  and  sordid 
views  of  life.  Day  after  day  it  had  dawned 
more  clearly  upon  her  that  her  lovely  kins- 
woman lived  in  a  world  far  above  her  own.  She 
found  herself  longing  for  the  mental  atmosphere 
in  which  the  other  moved  so  serenely  and  beau- 
tifully. If  she  were  not  so  fatally  committed 
to  the  path  she  was  treading,  she  would  even 
have  thrown  herself  on  her  goodness  and  un- 
burdened her  heart.  But  of  what  avail  was  it  to 
ask  help  now,  when  she  was  beyond  mortal  aid  ? 
God,  to  whom  she  had  sworn,  could  alone 
release  her. 

So  it  was  a  gloomy  day  for  Gabrielle,  a  day 
filled  with  bitter  regrets  and  impotent  longings. 
A  strange  metamorphosis  had  come  over  her. 
She  was  conscious  of  the  change;  and,  since 
deliverance  seemed  impossible,  she  could  only 
hope  that  this  overwhelming  depression  would 
pass  off  and  leave  her  to  tread  her  chosen  path 
to  the  end. 

She  was  sitting  thus  in  sombre  reverie,  when 
her  hostess  burst  into  the  room  with  a  bright 
smile,  saying,  "  Come,  Gabrielle,  dear !  Who 
283 


King  or  Knave 

do  you  think  is  here  ?  Why,  your  brother,  child, 
and  with  him  a  most  charming  young  fellow,  a 
Monsieur  de  Bellegarde." 

The  quick  flush  in  the  girl's  cheek  apprised 
Madame  de  Guercheville  that,  for  the  second 
time,  her  visitor  was  no  stranger  to  Gabrielle. 

It  had  seemed  to  her  singular  that  her  guest, 
while  knowing  her  brother  to  be  near,  had 
shown  no  wish  to  see  him.  The  truth  was,  that 
Gabrielle  had  almost  dreaded  such  a  visit.  She 
knew  that  Gaston  would  be  likely  to  bring  his 
friend,  and  she  had  shrunk  from  encountering 
Bellegarde. 

Now,  when  her  thoughts  had  been  full  of  him 
all  the  day,  he  had  come !  She  heard  the 
announcement  with  strangely  mingled  feelings, 
partly  of  embarrassment  and  partly  of  joy.  She 
dreaded  facing  him,  and  yet  she  longed  for  it. 
Conscience  made  a  coward  of  her,  but  her  heart 
yearned  for  light  and  hope  and,  most  of  all,  for 
love. 

When  she  entered  the  reception-room,  her 
self-consciousness  did  not  escape  the  quick  eye 
of  her  alert  hostess.  Nor  did  the  latter  fail  to 
note  the  eager  kindling  of  Bellegarde's  eye,  as 
he  caught  sight  of  Gabrielle  approaching. 

Fortunately  Gaston  was  in  high  spirits,  and 
his  affectionate  greeting  of  his  sister,  followed 
by  a  stream  of  questions  and  remarks,  served  to 
cover  Gabrielle's  embarrassment  and  give  her 
time  to  compose  herself.  This  was  the  first 
occasion,  he  explained,  when  it  had  been  possi- 
284 


King  or  Knave 

ble  for  him  and  Louis  to  leave  the  army ;  and 
he  had  much  to  tell  and  to  ask.  He  was  enthu- 
siastic in  his  praises  of  the  King,  who  was  the 
hero  of  a  whole  series  of  anecdotes  and  stories 
relating  to  the  campaign.  He  had  not  seen  his 
sister  since  he  had  entered  on  an  active  military 
life,  and  all  the  experiences  of  the  past  few 
months  were  pressing  to  be  told. 

While  Gaston  ran  on  in  this  impulsive  way, 
the  lady  of  the  house  was  making  some  reflec- 
tions. She  had  seen  enough  to  convince  her 
that  there  was  some  reciprocal  feeling  between 
the  other  two.  Like  every  genuine  woman,  she 
had  in  her  nature  a  strong  tincture  of  sentiment, 
and  already  she  had  woven  out  of  the  slender 
materials  in  her  possession  a  whole  romance,  in 
which  an  enamored  and  libertine  king,  a  lovely 
and  pure-minded  girl,  and  a  handsome  and  hon- 
orable suitor  were  the  actors.  To  baffle  the 
royal  profligate  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  make 
two  loving  hearts  happy,  was  what  her  womanly 
nature  prompted.  From  the  first,  Louis's  good 
looks  and  prepossessing  manners  had  enlisted 
her  interest.  Convinced  now  that  Gabrielle's 
happiness,  perhaps  her  honor,  was  at  stake,  she 
had  no  doubt  as  to  the  path  she  should  follow. 

Her  resolve  was  quickly  taken.  She  would 
give  the  young  lover  every  opportunity  pos- 
sible ;  and,  since  the  occasions  of  his  coming 
must  necessarily  be  rare,  she  would  begin  im- 
mediately by  letting  him  talk  with  Gabrielle 
alone.  In  doing  thus  she  had  the  entire  ap- 
285 


King  or  Knave 

proval  of  her  judgment,  since  the  young  man  in 
question  had  all  the  recommendation  of  good 
birth  and  honorable  position,  and  was,  besides, 
the  most  intimate  friend  of  the  lady's  brother. 
She  did  not  doubt,  therefore,  that  her  intended 
procedure  was  such  as  Gabrielle's  father  would 
approve.  She  formed  on  the  spot  a  plan  of 
campaign. 

"  Come,  Monsieur  d'Estr^es,"  she  said  pres- 
ently, "  I  should  greatly  like  to  have  your  opin- 
ion on  some  changes  which  I  purpose  making 
in  the  chateau,  with  a  view  to  strengthening  its 
defences.  Such  a  precaution,  in  the  present 
condition  of  the  country,  seems  necessary. 
Will  you  go  with  me?" 

Gaston,  proud  of  the  appeal  to  his  military 
judgment,  gladly  accompanied  her. 

The  lady's  ostensible  object  was  soon  accom- 
plished. Then  she  let  her  real  motive  be  seen 
without  disguise.  They  had  come  into  a  cosy 
boudoir  flooded  with  the  light  of  the  afternoon 
sun  and  cheerful  with  such  dainty  objects  as  a 
woman  of  refinement  is  wont  to  gather  around 
her.  The  hostess  took  a  seat  and  motioned  to 
her  guest  to  do  the  same. 

"  Come,  Monsieur  d'Estr£es,"  she  said,  "  I  am 
greatly  interested  in  your  friend,  Monsieur  de 
Bellegarde.  Will  you  tell  me  something  about 
him?  Have  you  known  him  long?" 

Gaston  was  delighted  to  be  treated  in  this 
confidential  way  by  a  charming  woman,  and  re- 
sponded gladly  to  her  inquiry,  the  more  because 
286 


King  or  Knave 

he  divined  that  her  motive  was  other  than  the 
gratification  of  curiosity. 

He  could  not  speak  of  Louis  without  enthu- 
siasm, and  the  presence  of  this  lovely  woman 
stimulated  him  to  more  than  usual  communi- 
cativeness. He  talked  freely  of  his  and  Louis's 
friendship  from  their  boyhood,  and  eloquently 
extolled  the  other's  high  qualities. 

He  paused.  The  evident  sympathy  of  his 
hostess  invited  him  to  go  on.  He  spoke  of 
Louis's  life-long  love  for  Gabrielle,  reciprocated 
by  her,  he  was  sure,  but  denied  expression 
solely  on  account  of  his  father's  opposition. 
This  attitude,  however,  was  due  wholly  to  his 
friend's  poverty  and  former  obscurity.  Now, 
he  was  confident,  since  Louis  had  received 
marks  of  the  King's  favor,  with  the  prospect  of 
a  brilliant  career,  the  sole  objection  to  his  suit 
would  be  removed.  As  her  brother,  he  might 
venture  to  say  that  no  alliance  could  be  more 
welcome  to  the  family. 

The  kind  heart  of  Madame  de  Guercheville 
was  deeply  touched.  In  the  first  instance  she 
had  been  greatly  moved  by  the  old  baron's  pa- 
thetic picture  of  his  daughter's  motherless  state. 
It  had  seemed  to  her  a  deplorable  thing,  that  a 
girl  should  come  to  womanhood  in  so  great  iso- 
lation from  equals  of  her  own  sex  and  deprived 
of  the  guidance  of  a  mother  through  the  perils 
of  her  age  and  station.  Most  gladly,  therefore, 
she  had  opened  her  doors  to  her. 

Her  concern  for  her  charge  had  been  deep- 
287 


King  or  Knave 

ened  by  the  episode  of  Henry's  visit.  She 
began  to  realize  that  there  were  subtle  and  dif- 
ficult elements  in  the  task  which  she  had  under- 
taken. The  girl's  marked  reticence  on  that 
subject  was  far  from  reassuring.  It  might  well 
be  that  in  her  unsheltered  life  she  had  encoun- 
tered the  fascinating  monarch  in  some  relation 
which,  should  it  be  continued,  boded  no  good 
for  her  future.  She  entertained  a  deep  aversion 
to  Henry's  conduct  towards  her  sex  and  natu- 
rally dreaded  for  Gabrielle  the  continuance  of 
an  acquaintance  which  already  involved  some 
concealment. 

Now,  therefore,  she  felt  deep  joy  in  learning 
of  a  mutual  attachment  between  her  and  a 
young  man  apparently  so  estimable  as  was 
Bellegarde.  It  lifted  a  great  load  from  her 
mind,  in  clearing  the  young  girl  of  any  possible 
suspicion  as  to  her  past.  It  also  made  her  own 
duty  plain.  What  Gaston  told  her  explained,  in 
a  way  highly  creditable  to  her,  his  sister's  ap- 
parent indifference  to  meeting  him.  Undoubt- 
edly, she  had  feared  that  he  would  come 
accompanied  by  his  friend,  and,  as  an  obedient 
daughter,  she  had  felt  herself  bound  to  refrain 
from  encouraging  the  visits  of  a  suitor  whose 
addresses  were  not  acceptable  to  her  father. 

This,  then,  was  the  reason  of  Gabrielle's  de- 
jection, so  noticeable  on  that  very  day.  Poor 
child !  What  she  must  have  suffered  in  know- 
ing that  the  man  she  loved  was  so  near,  and  yet 
conscientiously  denying  herself  the  joy  of  meet- 
288 


King  or  Knave 

ing  him  !     Such  a  splendid  young  fellow,  too ! 
Who  could  wonder  at  a  girl's  loving  him? 

In  favoring  Bellegarde's  suit  she  felt  that  she 
would  be  acting  in  the  spirit  of  the  baron's  ex- 
pressed wishes  for  his  daughter.  Under  like 
circumstances,  he  would  undoubtedly  take  the 
same  course.  In  that  particular  Gaston's  assur- 
ances fully  confirmed  her  own  judgment. 

Thus,  happy  in  well-doing  and  full  of  tender 
sympathy,  Madame  de  Guercheville  entertained 
Gaston,  while  the  lovers  were  alone  together  for 
the  first  time  in  many  years. 

Louis  was  not  slow  to  seize  the  precious 
opportunity  which  a  kind  human  providence 
had  placed  in  his  way.  Had  he  believed  that 
Gabrielle's  disregard  of  his  advances  was  the 
dictate  of  her  own  feelings,  self-respect  would 
have  kept  him  from  urging  his  suit.  But,  fully 
convinced  that  his  only  difficulty  lay  in  the 
baron's  attitude  and  in  his  daughter's  sense  of 
duty,  he  did  not  scruple  to  make  the  most  of 
the  golden  chance. 

It  behooved  him  to  speak  quickly,  for  he  did 
not  know  how  long  his  opportunity  would  last. 
Without  preliminaries,  he  poured  out  his  long 
pent-up  feelings  in  a  passionate  declaration  of 
love.  He  pleaded  his  years  of  devotion.  He 
dwelt  on  his  sufferings  through  her  silence. 
Since  her  attitude  towards  him  was  the  result  of 
a  mistaken  sense  of  duty,  he  urged  her  to  be 
true  to  herself  and  to  let  her  heart  speak. 

Encouraged  by  the  unmistakable  tenderness 
19  289 


King  or  Knave 

in  her  eyes,  he  dared  to  take  her  hand.  She  did 
not  withdraw  it.  He  pressed  it.  He  covered  it 
with  kisses.  Borne  on  by  the  unexpected  happi- 
ness of  her  surrender,  he  poured  out  the  utter- 
ance of  his  love  in  an  impetuous  torrent. 

Gabrielle  gave  herself  up  wholly  to  the  rapture 
of  loving  and  being  loved.  In  the  strong  re- 
action from  her  other  suitor  and  after  the  miser- 
able dejection  of  the  day,  this  experience  came 
like  warm  sunshine  bursting  in  upon  wintry 
night.  What  cared  she  for  the  future  ?  For  the 
present  it  was  unutterably  sweet  to  listen  to  the 
music  of  Louis's  voice  murmuring  the  story  of 
his  love,  the  only  love  of  his  life,  and  to  feel  his 
breath  caressing  her  hair  and  through  his  hand 
pressing  hers  the  thrill  of  reciprocal  affection. 

Doubly  dear  he  seemed  now,  when  she  had 
signed  away  the  right  to  call  him  hers.  She 
was  intoxicated  with  the  ecstasy  of  surrender. 
Once  only  the  thought  of  Henry  flitted  through 
her  brain,  and  it  brought  a  burning  blush  to  her 
cheek.  How  different  from  the  other's  was 
Louis's  approach,  at  once  so  tender  and  so 
respectful,  by  its  faith  in  her  appealing  to  the 
higher  elements  of  her  being,  while  Henry  had 
succeeded  only  in  calling  into  activity  its  lower 
side ! 

Gabrielle's  was  an  ardent  nature.  She  was 
capable  of  loving  intensely.  Her  whole  being 
craved  love,  passionate,  boundless  love.  She 
had  long  famished  for  it.  The  attempt  to  force 
her  inclinations  into  a  false  channel,  at  the  dicta- 
290 


King  or  Knave 

tion  of  mercenary  considerations,  had  failed 
miserably.  It  had  starved  her  heart.  Now  the 
pent-up  forces  of  her  ardent  being  burst  their 
flood-gates  and  fairly  swept  her  away  on  an 
ocean  of  delight.  Without  reckoning  of  time  or 
aught  mundane,  she  floated  on  that  boundless 
sea.  Eternity  was  in  those  moments.  Con- 
sciousness itself  was  almost  lost  in  the  ecstasy 
of  self-abandonment.  It  was  all  that  she  asked 
of  life,  that  he  was  there,  and  each  was  the 
other's. 

Louis,  too,  was  in  a  delirium  of  joy.  Gabri- 
elle's  unexpected  and  absolute  self-surrender; 
the  sweet  submissiveness  of  her  attitude;  the 
color  coming  and  going  in  her  cheeks,  the  soft 
love-light  in  her  eyes,  the  bosom  heaving  in 
slow  and  deep  swell,  the  beautiful  hand  clinging 
to  his  with  thrills  responsive  to  the  emotions 
he  expressed,  —  it  seemed  incredible.  Was  this 
indeed  the  Gabrielle  who  had  denied  him  the 
least  sign  of  love?  In  this  yielding  mood  how 
exquisitely  winning  she  was ! 

He  pressed  for  some  confession  of  her  love. 
She  shuddered,  and  her  hand  trembled  in  his. 
Her  compact  rose  like  a  spectre  out  of  a  dim 
past.  But  she  laid  it  with  the  thought,  that  the 
bond  was  conditional,  and  perhaps  its  provisos 
would  never  be  fulfilled.  All  her  being  was 
absorbed  in  the  present.  It  was  enough  to  love 
and  be  loved.  To  have  Louis  for  her  own, 
there,  on  the  spot,  leaning  over  her,  touching 
her,  pressing  her,  their  two  souls  merged  in  one 
291 


King  or  Knave 

ecstasy  —  what  more  could  she  ask  of  life  than 
this?  Now  let  her  die,  ere  the  spell  be  broken ! 
She  sank  back  into  her  rapturous  self-abandon- 
ment. Her  eyes  filled. 

"  Oh !  Tell  me,  Gabrielle,  my  adored,"  Louis 
urged,  "  tell  me  with  your  sweet  lips  what  your 
eyes  confess,  that  you  love  me." 

Still  there  was  no  word.  Only  the  bosom 
heaved  with  a  deeper  inspiration;  the  hand 
resting  in  his  trembled ;  and  the  eyes  closed,  as 
if  she  were  in  a  trance. 

Again  he  pressed  for  some  word  from  her, 
"  Speak,  darling !  Our  time  is  brief.  At  any 
moment  we  may  be  interrupted.  Tell  me  that 
you  love  me  and  that  you  will  be  mine.  Speak, 
dearest,  I  entreat  you." 

In  vain.  It  was  as  if  her  body  was  there, 
beautiful,  warm,  pulsating  with  the  abundance 
of  its  passionate  life,  but  her  soul  far  away  in 
some  ethereal  sphere.  In  truth,  she  was  floating, 
intoxicated,  on  the  borders  of  consciousness. 

Louis  pressed  nearer  yet.  His  breath  was  on 
her  cheek.  Unresisted,  he  touched  it  with  his 
lips,  and,  at  the  contact,  the  hot  blood  burned 
beneath  the  velvet  skin.  His  arm  encircled  her. 
He  drew  her  yielding  form  to  him,  and  her  head 
sank  on  his  shoulder. 

The  sound  of  steps  rapidly  approaching  was 
heard.  Louis  sprang  to  his  feet  and  retired  a 
pace  or  two.  Gabrielle  started  up,  as  if  awaking 
from  a  dream,  and  turned  pale. 

Gaston  burst  into  the  room,  crying,  in  his 
292 


King  or  Knave 

impetuous  fashion,  "  Come,  Louis,  we  must 
hasten.  There  is  not  a  moment  to  lose.  A 
man,  just  now  come  in,  brings  word  that  the 
army  of  the  League  is  marching  in  full  force 
against  us  and  is  already  in  Mantes." 

"  Impossible  ! "  exclaimed  Bellegarde.  "When 
Mayenne  was  last  heard  from,  he  was  several 
leagues  to  the  east  of  Paris." 

"  That  may  be.  But  this  man  is  willing  to 
swear  that  he  saw  the  Leaguers  with  his  own 
eyes,  and  that,  as  he  came  out  of  Mantes,  their 
vanguard  was  marching  in." 

"  Let  us  go  and  see  for  ourselves,"  cried 
Louis.  "  If  this  report  be  true,  the  King  should 
know  the  fact  immediately." 

Gaston's  tidings  had  struck  mortal  terror  to 
his  sister's  heart.  The  spell  of  her  dream  was 
broken.  She  had  yielded  herself  to  its  rapture, 
in  the  hope  that  the  fulfilment  of  her  hateful 
engagement  might  be  indefinitely  postponed, 
perhaps  forever  avoided.  So  long  as  the  main 
condition  was  unperformed,  she  was  free.  Her 
prayer  would  have  been  that  the  League  might 
live  forever. 

But  now,  like  a  thunderbolt  out  of  a  clear 
sky,  had  come  the  awful  news  that  the  crisis 
was  at  hand.  Would  to  God,  it  might  yet  prove 
to  be  a  false  rumor !  She  cast  a  glance  of 
anxious  inquiry  at  Louis.  He  looked  grave. 

Gaston   was    bustling    about,   preparing    for 
instant   departure.     Louis    seized   the   moment 
for  a  whispered  entreaty,  — 
293 


King  or  Knave 

"Your  answer,  darling?     One  word  !  " 

How  could  she  reply?  But  how  could  she 
send  him  away  without  a  word? 

Trembling  and  with  quivering  lips,  she  fal- 
tered, "  All  will  depend  —  on  the  issue  —  of  the 
next  battle,"  words  full  of  delightful  promise  to 
Bellegarde. 

At  this  moment  the  hostess  entered  the  room, 
and  the  young  men  hastened  to  take  their  leave 
of  the  ladies.  With  a  heart  full  of  sweet  hopes, 
Louis  pressed  to  his  lips  Gabrielle's  fingers, 
cold,  as  he  fancied,  through  apprehension  for 
himself  and  her  brother.  Then  they  rode  away. 

They  spurred  towards  Mantes.  But  before 
they  came  within  sight  of  that  city,  they  had 
full  confirmation  of  the  report  which  had  been 
brought  to  the  chateau.  From  an  eminence 
they  descried,  in  a  village  below,  a  body  of 
horse,  evidently  the  vanguard  of  the  Leaguers, 
easily  recognized  by  their  ensigns.  Beyond, 
across  the  whole  width  of  the  valley  the  main 
army  wound  its  tortuous  way,  like  a  great 
serpent,  the  level  rays  of  the  sun  reflected 
from  thousands  of  gleaming  pikes  and  lances. 
Mayenne  was  surely  marching  to  the  relief  of 
Dreux. 


294 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-FOURTH 

How  the  King  gives  Gaston  high  promotion,  whereat  he 
is  much  elated,  and  how  another  schemes  to  bring  his 
pride  to  a  fall. 

WHEN  Louis  and  Gaston  dashed  into  camp, 
they  rode  straight  to  the  King's  quarters  and  gave 
him  the  first  tidings  of  Mayenne's  approach. 

He  was  at  the  first  inclined  to  doubt  the 
accuracy  of  their  report,  so  improbable  it 
seemed.  They  assured  him  that  they  had  veri- 
fied the  rumor  and  had  themselves  seen  the 
enemy.  He  thanked  them  warmly  for  the  ser- 
vice they  had  rendered  in  so  promptly  bringing 
the  intelligence. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  "  I  have  an  announce- 
ment to  make  to  you,  Monsieur  d'Estr6es,  which 
will  scarcely  be  displeasing.  I  have  at  last 
accomplished  a  measure  which  I  have  some 
time  had  in  contemplation.  Orders  have  to- 
day been  issued  for  uniting  several  independent 
bodies  of  horse  into  one  regiment.  In  seeking 
an  officer  for  its  command  I  have  not  known 
where  to  find  one  worthier  of  that  honor  than 
yourself.  I  have  the  honor  of  saluting  you 
colonel  of  the  new  regiment  of  cavalry." 

Gaston  could  scarcely  credit  his  ears.  He 
dropped  on  one  knee,  seized  the  King's  hand 
29S 


King  or  Knave 

and  kissed  it,  with  thanks  which  were  hardly 
audible  for  his  embarrassment. 

"  You  will  have  as  fine  a  regiment  as  any  in 
my  army,"  continued  the  King.  "  There  is  the 
Gascon  company  of  the  Sieur  de  Thouars,  the 
Poitevin  company  of  the  Count  de  Villequier, 
Barbazon's  company  from  Saintonges,  and  three 
or  four  others.  And  I  have  assured  these  gentle- 
men that  they  will  have  a  gallant  commander. 
You  must  expect  some  restlessness.  These  are 
Huguenot  gentlemen,  and  they  would  have  pre- 
ferred to  serve  under  one  of  their  own  faith. 
Some  of  them,  too,  are  old  campaigners,  and 
they  have  been  disposed  to  think  that  my 
choice  should  have  fallen  upon  one  of  them.  I 
have  taken  the  full  responsibility  of  answering 
for  you  and  have  pledged  them  my  honor  that 
you  will  respect  their  faith.  As  to  the  rest,  it 
remains  with  you  to  reconcile  them  to  their 
disappointment  by  your  courage  and  wisdom." 

In  point  of  fact,  the  companies  which  Henry 
had  so  highly  extolled  were  some  ill-disciplined 
fragments,  full  of  insubordination;  and  there 
had  been  a  violent  explosion,  almost  amounting 
to  mutiny,  when  the  announcement  was  made  of 
Gaston's  appointment  to  command  them.  Old 
captains  who  had  followed  Henry  in  his  earlier 
campaigns,  swore  that  he  was  losing  his  brain 
since  his  accession,  and  that  he  showed  his  folly 
in  putting  a  boy  over  the  heads  of  veterans,  and 
his  apostasy  to  the  faith  he  was  sworn  to  defend, 
in  preferring  a  Catholic  to  his  co-religionists. 
296 


King  or  Knave 

"  The  damned  young  popinjay !  "  said  De 
Thouars  to  another  of  the  malcontents,  "  he 
will  not  long  enjoy  his  distinction.  You  will 
see  me  pluck  his  fine  stolen  feathers." 

"  I  would  almost  wager  that  there  is  a  woman 
concerned.  When  our  Henry  makes  a  fool  of 
himself,  there  is  always  a  petticoat  somewhere 
at  hand.  You  remember  how,  after  Coutras, 
he  threw  away  all  that  we  had  fought  for,  by 
riding  off,  pardieu !  to  lay  his  trophies  at  the 
feet  of  La  Belle  Corisande,"  said  the  other. 
"  Corisande's  star  has  set.  Who  rules  the  sky 
now?  I  have  heard  of  mysterious  rides  in  the 
direction  of  Mantes.  What  say  you?  " 

"  Wait.  You  will  see,"  replied  De  Thouars, 
nodding  mysteriously  and  pursing  up  his  mouth. 

But  of  all  this  Gaston  was  happily  ignorant. 
He  could  scarcely  sleep  that  night,  so  full  was 
he  of  his  new  dignity.  A  colonel,  and  that,  too, 
on  the  eve  of  a  general  engagement ! 

Louis  shared  his  friend's  happiness  with  the 
most  generous  frankness.  A  meaner  nature 
would  have  been  moved  to  envy  by  remember- 
ing that  Henry's  promise  of  advancement  made 
to  him  on  the  field  of  Arques  was  still  unre- 
deemed, and  that  Gaston's  services  had  been 
confined  to  taking  part  in  a  few  skirmishes. 

That  night  all  was  excitement  and  activity  in 
the  trenches  around  Dreux.  The  tidings  of  the 
coming  of  the  army  of  the  League  had  been 
quickly  circulated,  and  the  royalist  troops  were 
keen  to  meet  the  foe.  All  night  there  was 
297 


King  or  Knave 

moving  to  and  fro  in  preparation  for  quitting 
the  trenches  on  the  morrow.  Dreux  must  be 
relinquished,  that  greater  game  might  be  struck. 

It  was  scarcely  light,  when  the  bugles  sounded, 
and,  with  the  coming  of  day,  the  astonished 
burghers  saw  the  trenches  empty  and  the 
beleaguering  camp  broken  up. 

It  was  a  proud  moment  for  Gaston,  when  he 
rode  to  the  head  of  his  regiment,  as  it  took  its 
place  in  the  column  of  march.  What  ambitious 
dreams  were  realized  in  that  happy  hour !  How 
he  wished  that,  at  that  instant,  his  father  and 
Gabrielle  might  know  of  his  honor  and  share 
his  triumph  !  What  visions  of  gallant  deeds  to 
be  done  rose  before  him !  How  proudly  he 
would  lead  his  men  to  victory ! 

He  could  not  fail  to  notice  the  supercilious 
manner  of  some  of  his  officers,  who  hardly 
deigned  to  give  him  the  greeting  of  common 
courtesy.  But  what  mattered  it?  He  would 
soon  teach  them  that  he  was  no  fledgeling,  and 
when  he  had  shown  them,  on  the  field,  of  what 
stuff  "a  D'Estrees  was  made,  he  would  challenge 
any  man  to  dispute  his  worthiness  to  command. 

The  reported  approach  of  the  hostile  army 
was,  by  this  time,  fully  confirmed ;  and  Henry 
was,  as  usual,  eager  and  joyous  in  anticipation 
of  a  conflict  which  would  have  given  pause  to  a 
less  daring  spirit.  That  Mayenne  would  not 
have  ventured  to  seek  him  without  vastly  greater 
forces  was  a  foregone  conclusion,  but  one  which 
not  in  the  least  daunted  him. 
298 


King  or  Knave 

Now  the  royalist  column  was  in  full  march, 
hastening  to  reach  the  Eure,  where  Henry  pro- 
posed to  dispute  the  crossing  with  Mayenne, 
when  videttes,  sent  out  during  the  previous 
night  to  watch  the  approaches,  galloped  in  with 
the  tidings  that  the  enemy's  vanguard  was 
already  across  the  stream.  This  circumstance 
necessitated  a  change  of  plan.  Accordingly 
the  royal  army  took  position  on  the  plain  of  St. 
Andre,  between  Nonancourt  and  Ivry. 

At  the  same  time  the  Leaguers  were  coming 
into  view. 

By  nightfall  the  two  armies  confronted  each 
other. 

Throughout  that  long  day,  while  the  royalist 
forces  were  hastening  to  meet  the  army  of  the 
League,  and  our  two  young  men  were  full  of 
eager  anticipations  of  battle,  there  was  gloom  at 
the  chateau  of  La  Roche-Guyon. 

Louis  and  Gaston  had  not  been  able  to  report 
the  result  of  their  reconnoissance  to  its  inmates, 
but  had  posted  straight  to  camp  with  their 
startling  tidings.  Ample  confirmation  of  the 
rumored  approach  of  the  Leaguers  had,  how- 
ever, come  to  the  ladies.  The  chateau  lay  at 
a  distance  of  three  miles  from  the  highway 
between  Mantes  and  Dreux,  and,  from  time  to 
time  through  the  day,  country-folk  came  in  with 
appalling  stories  of  the  number  and  formidable 
character  of  the  hostile  troops.  To  the  fright- 
ened peasants  the  swarthy,  bearded  Spaniards 
seemed  countless  and  unspeakably  terrible,  and 
299 


King  or  Knave 

the  Walloon  cavalry,  on  their  ponderous  horses, 
were  a  race  of  giants.  The  wildest  rumors  be- 
came current.  As  the  foreign  troops,  of  differ- 
ent nations,  poured  along  the  highway,  hour 
after  hour,  jabbering  in  their  strange,  outlandish 
tongues,  the  simple  folk  imagined  that  all  the 
peoples  of  the  earth  were  assembled  in  an 
unnumbered  host,  to  crush  their  King  and  his 
army. 

The  ladies  of  the  chateau  could  not  but  be 
disturbed  by  these  reports.  No  doubt  they 
were  exaggerated,  but  it  might  well  be  that 
Mayenne  had  gathered  such  an  army  as  the 
King,  with  all  his  skill  and  courage,  would  find 
it  difficult  to  cope  with.  This  was  the  appre- 
hension that  weighed  on  the  mind  of  Madame 
de  Guercheville,  ardent  royalist  as  she  was. 

But  what  profoundly  depressed  Gabrielle  was 
the  certainty  that  the  decisive  conflict  was  at 
hand.  Just  when  light  and  joy  had  come  into 
her  life,  and  when  all  her  hope  was  staked  on 
the  postponement  of  the  crisis,  the  issue  sud- 
denly loomed  up  before  her  in  startling  near- 
ness. 


300 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-FIFTH 

How  Jean  Fourcade  finds  his  Sophie. 

IT  was  a  bright  winter  morning  when  Jean 
Fourcade  struck  the  ponderous  knocker  of  the 
convent-door  at  Auxerre.  For  all  his  high 
hopes,  he  felt  a  certain  sinking  of  the  heart  as 
he  heard  the  well-remembered  sound  echoing 
sonorously  through  the  wide,  empty  hall. 

When  the  Abbess  met  him,  there  was  on  her 
face  a  look  of  recognition,  but  she  made  no  sign 
and  she  seemed  sterner  than  ever. 

He  simply  handed  her  the  priest's  letter 
and  bowed,  saying,  "  From  Father  Damien  at 
Usson."  Then  with  a  beating  heart  he  watched 
her  face. 

The  mention  of  the  good  priest's  name 
evidently  impressed  her.  But  Fourcade  was 
scarcely  prepared  for  the  transformation  which 
he  witnessed.  As  she  read,  interest  deepened 
into  amazement.  When  she  had  finished  the 
perusal,  she  was  another  woman  than  the  austere 
ecclesiastic. 

"  Monsieur  Fourcade,"  she  said,  "  from  my 
heart  I  wish  you  joy  and  welcome  you  here. 
Truly  the  hand  of  God  is  apparent  in  this  thing. 
301 


King  or  Knave 

From  this  letter  it  is  plain  that  you  are  a  true 
man  who  has  suffered  grievous  wrong.  It  may 
be  that  I  have  seemed  harsh  to  you.  I  meant 
only  to  be  just.  Now  I  shall  do  all  in  my  power 
to  make  amends  to  you  for  the  past.  This  I 
shall  do  the  more  gladly  because  of  her  who 
should  have  been  your  wife  and  who  has  been 
an  inmate  of  this  house  more  than  two  years. 
That  sweet  creature  is  most  tenderly  loved  by 
us  all.  She  has  won  every  heart  among  us.  It 
will  be  joyful  news  to  every  soul  in  this  house 
that  the  atrocious  falsehood  that  has  over- 
shadowed her  innocent  life  and  blackened  yours 
is  exposed.  Ah  !  how  gladly  we  shall  serve  as 
God's  instruments  in  restoring  you  to  each 
other !  Once  more  from  my  heart  I  wish  you 
joy  of  this  happy  issue  out  of  all  your  afflic- 
tions." And  she  wrung  his  hand  with  warmth. 

Was  it  possible?  This  from  the  stern  woman 
who  once  had  turned  him  from  her  door  as  a 
scoundrel ! 

There  are  moments  too  sacred,  emotions  too 
deep  to  be  portrayed  in  words.  Let  us  not 
attempt  to  tell  how  Sophie  received  the  strange, 
the  amazing  tidings  which  the  Abbess  brought 
to  her ;  how  the  sweet  creature  listened,  trem- 
bling, to  the  wonderful  contents  of  Father 
Damien's  letter,  and  then  sank  upon  the  bosom 
of  the  other ;  how  the  Abbess  folded  her  in  her 
arms  and  wept  softly  with  her,  this  stern  woman, 
so  remote  seemingly  from  all  human  interests, 
and  tenderly  stroked  her  hair,  feeling  in  her 
302 


King  or  Knave 

own  bosom  a  certain  unwonted,  wistful  move- 
ment, a  faint  stir  of  the  undying  instinct  of 
motherhood ;  nor  how  Sophie  fell,  with  a  little 
cry,  into  Jean's  arms  and  sobbed  on  his  shoulder 
and  strained  him  to  her  overflowing  heart ;  nor 
how  he  who  had  met  all  his  trials  with  an  un- 
faltering front,  poured  out  his  heart  in  a  flood  of 
tears  as  he  embraced  this  dear  creature,  for  so 
many  years  the  object  of  his  adoring  love,  his 
guiding  star,  now  restored  to  him,  her  early 
faith  justified.  Let  us  leave  them  to  their  sweet 
communing,  as  the  hours  speed  by  on  golden 
wings. 

Once  Sophie  left  Jean  for  a  moment.  She 
returned  and  placed  in  his  arms  a  sturdy  infant 
who  looked  wonderingly  at  this  strange,  bearded 
being  whom  he  saw  for  the  first  time. 

"  Our  boy !  "  she  sobbed,  with  tears  at  once 
of  gladness  and  humiliation,  and  buried  her 
burning  face  on  her  husband's  shoulder. 

He,  clasping  mother  and  child  together  to  his 
heart  in  joy  too  deep  for  words,  first  knew  what 
depths  of  abasement  she  had  trodden  for  his 
sake. 

The  hours  of  that  wonderful  day  fled  swiftly 
by  and  the  sun  was  sinking,  when  there  was  an 
unusual  stir  throughout  the  convent. 

Two  by  two  the  sisters,  silent  after  their  wont, 
but  not  sad,  filed  into  the  chapel.  All  the  day 
long  the  dove-cote  had  been  in  a  flutter.  First 
some  rumor  had  crept  abroad  among  them  of 
the  marvellous  thing  that  had  come  to  pass. 
3°3 


King  or  Knave 

Then  their  superior  had  called  them  together 
and  related  the  amazing  story  of  the  good 
priest's  letter.  And  their  simple  hearts  had  been 
filled  with  great  joy  for  the  sweet  woman  who 
had  lived  among  them  as  a  sister  and  who, 
bound  by  no  vows,  had  been  an  example  of  the 
virtues  to  cultivate  which  they  had  fled  the 
world.  Now  the  chapel-bell  summoned  them  at 
an  unusual  hour,  and  they  rightly  surmised  that 
they  were  assembled  to  witness  the  conclusion 
of  the  wonderful  drama. 

Jean  seemed  to  be  in  a  dream,  as  he,  the 
strenuous  Protestant,  stood  before  the  altar 
blazing  with  lights  and  received  his  bride  at  the 
hands  of  the  Abbess  who  once  had  rejected  his 
heart-broken  appeal. 

The  service  ended,  the  organ  burst  forth  in  a 
joyful  strain  and  a  hundred  sweet  voices  swelled 
the  song  of  praise  and  thanksgiving  to  God, 
while  the  parting  sun,  streaming  through  a  rose- 
window,  encircled  the  wedded  pair  with  a  nimbus 
of  golden  light. 

At  the  same  hour  when  the  Gray  Sisters  of 
Auxerre  were  singing  with  heart  and  soul  the 
Jubilate  Deo,  at  Usson  a  solemn  cortege  wended 
its  way  into  the  church  draped  in  black  and 
thronged  with  the  curious  gathered  to  witness 
the  last  pageant  in  the  career  of  one  who  living 
had  loved  pomp.  The  mournful  notes  of  the 
Miserere  Domine  were  wailed  forth  amid  the 
gathering  gloom.  Then,  to  the  accompaniment 
of  the  priest's  solemn  words  of  committal  and 
304 


King  or  Knave 

the  convulsive  sobbing  of  her  mistress  and  of 
young  Treville,  the  body  of  Angelique  de 
Rebours  was  lowered  into  the  vault  which  held 
the  dust  of  many  noble  generations.  Her  piety 
and  virtues  let  none  dispute.  Are  they  not 
recorded  to  this  day  in  brass  on  the  church-wall 
at  Usson? 

The  Gray  Nuns'  hymn  of  joy  and  praise 
ended,  they  flocked  around  Sister  Sophie  and 
embraced  her,  the  most  with  tearful  eyes,  all 
with  sincere  hearts.  Who  did  not  love  this 
gentle  creature  who  had  lived  among  them  so 
beautifully,  the  patient  victim,  as  they  believed, 
of  a  man's  perfidy;  this  sister  in  more  than 
name,  who,  her  own  heart  torn  with  pain,  ever 
willingly  shared  another's  woe? 

As  they  clung  about  her  with  mingled  smiles 
and  tears,  were  there  not,  perchance,  some  who 
felt  a  wistful  sense  of  a  deep  want  in  their  own 
lives,  consecrated  to  celestial  aims,  a  craving  for 
an  earthly  bliss  which  they  might  never  know, 
the  holy  joy  of  possessing  a  true  man's  love? 
It  may  be  that,  as  evening  gathered,  in  many 
a  cell  were  breathed  sighs,  not  for  pale  and 
shadowy  sins,  but  of  vain  regret  for  the  great, 
bright  world  without,  with  its  stormy  griefs  and 
joys.  Many  there  were  doubtless  who  would 
gladly  have  exchanged  for  its  swirling  currents 
the  tideless  calm  in  which  their  devoted  lives 
were  embayed. 

Twilight  was  coming  on,  as  Jean  and  Sophie 
left  the  convent.  They  could  not  but  recall  that 
20  305 


King  or  Knave 

other  evening  on  which  they  had  turned  from 
the  same  door  humiliated  and  angry,  but  full  of 
trust  in  each  other.  Now  that  trust  had  been 
justified,  and  they  walked  forth,  how  elated  !  she 
leaning  on  his  strong  arm,  while  he  carried  their 
boy. 

Fourcade,  looking  down  into  the  little  fellow's 
face,  said,  "  Sophie,  my  darling,  he  has  your 
sweet  eyes.  Oh !  you  have  not  told  me  his 
name." 

"  I  have  called  him  Paul  for  one  Paul  Sabatier 
who  won  my  heart  long  ago,  when  I  was  a  fool- 
ish girl."  She  looked  up  into  her  husband's 
face  with  a  touch  of  her  old  archness  and 
pressed  his  arm. 

Now  they  came  to  the  inn  where,  with 
Hugue"nin,  they  had  lodged  that  night  after 
Sophie  had  resolved  to  go  out  into  the  world 
under  the  care  of  Jean  and  his  friend.  Four- 
cade  had  sent  from  the  convent  to  bespeak  a 
modest  supper.  His  messenger  had  given  a  hint 
of  the  occasion,  and  the  landlady  —  for  what 
woman  does  not  take  a  sympathetic  interest  in  a 
marriage  ?  —  had  resolved  to  surprise  the  happy 
pair  with  a  wedding-feast  after  her  own  heart. 
In  a  cosy  little  parlor,  with  a  bright  fire  crack- 
ling on  the  hearth,  a  table  covered  with  snowy 
linen  and  garnished  with  the  proud  hostess's 
silverware  of  state  bore  an  ample  array  of  smok- 
ing viands,  with  a  flask  of  the  landlord's  choicest 
vintage.  So  they  seated  themselves  to  their 
bridal  supper. 

306 


King  or  Knave 

"  Now  Hugu6nin  should  be  here,  to  share  our 
joy,"  said  Jean.  "  Dear  old  fellow,  how  happy 
he  will  be  when  he  hears  it  all !  I  shall  see  him 
soon,  alas !  "  This  forecast  of  the  inevitable 
parting  was  the  only  shadow  that  fell  on  their 
gladness. 

It  was  by  no  means  a  formal  meal.  The 
kindly  hostess  would  let  nobody  serve  these 
guests  of  honor  but  herself,  and  constantly 
bustled  in  and  out,  now  and  again  stopping  to 
play  with  the  baby  and  casting  admiring  glances 
at  the  handsome  mother,  all  the  while  won- 
dering much,  but,  wise  woman !  keeping  her 
thoughts  to  herself. 

When  the  table  had  been  cleared  and  the 
landlady  had  retired,  and  they  drew  their  chairs 
up  to  the  fire,  Paul  sleeping  on  his  mother's 
lap,  was  there  in  all  the  world  a  happier  group 
than  theirs?  Holding  Sophie's  hand  in  his, 
Jean  looked  into  her  sweet  eyes,  and  scarcely 
could  believe  it  true  that  this  brave,  tender,  ex- 
quisite woman  was  his  now,  beyond  any  power 
of  mortal  man  to  separate  them.  How  beauti- 
ful, how  god-like  she  was,  this  wife  of  his,  her 
dark  brown  hair  swept  back  from  her  smooth 
brow  and  framing  her  oval  face  in  a  glorious 
setting  of  heavy,  shining  braids;  her  large 
eyes,  soft  and  lustrous  as  a  deer's,  reflecting  the 
firelight  in  their  clear  depths  !  The  artless  girl 
had  ripened  into  the  matron.  The  experience 
of  sorrow,  like  the  frost  which  alone  gives  to 
certain  fruits  their  perfect  sweetness,  had  mel- 
307 


King  or  Knave 

lowed  her  and  left  its  touch  on  her  outward 
manner  in  an  added  gravity,  on  .her  spirit  in  a 
wider,  deeper  sympathy  with  all  who  err  and 
suffer.  Hers  was  a  nature  which  disappoint- 
ment could  not  embitter,  a  heart  which  no 
poison  could  taint.  Love  kept  it  perennially 
sweet.  Even  while  she  had  held  herself  aloof 
from  her  husband,  his  image  had  been  en- 
shrined in  the  secret  place  of  her  devotion. 
So  she  had  borne  her  bitter  trial  with  infi- 
nite sweetness  and  patience,  still  loving,  trust- 
ing, praying,  believing  that,  true  herself  to 
the  highest  law  of  her  being,  yea,  of  all  being, 
it  would  be  well  at  last,  if  not  here,  then  else- 
where. 

Adorable  Sophie !  Sanctified  by  the  holy 
sacrament  of  motherhood,  what  divine  serenity 
radiated  from  her !  Jean,  gazing  in  rapture, 
caught  some  sense  of  the  Eternal  womanly, 
revered  by  man  since  earliest  times.  In  the 
mother,  with  the  infant  sleeping  on  her  bosom, 
he  saw  revealed  a  mystery  of  the  wide  world's 
theology.  There,  by  that  fireside,  was  the  pri- 
meval trinity,  the  prototype  of  all  the  trinities 
of  all  the  ages. 

Shall  we  wonder  that  Jean  lingered  day  after 
day  with  Sophie  in  the  paradise  that  had  been 
opened  to  him  in  a  true  woman's  loving  heart? 
But  he  must  go  on.  His  master's  orders,  con- 
tained in  the  letter  which  he  had  received,  were 
that,  so  soon  as  he  had  despatched  his  own 
affairs,  he  should  join  him  at  Dreux,  which 
308 


King  or  Knave 

he  was  about  to  besiege.  Now  came  a  startling 
rumor  that  a  powerful  Spanish  army  was  march- 
ing from  Flanders  to  reinforce  Mayenne.  He 
must  sink  the  husband  in  the  soldier  and  hasten 
to  the  colors. 

The  Abbess  had  gladly  charged  herself  with 
sending  to  Monsieur  and  Madame  Roberval, 
who  were  living  at  Orleans,  the  joyful  tidings  of 
all  that  had  befallen.  A  reply  had  come  ex- 
pressing the  good  parents'  unbounded  joy,  with 
their  benediction  on  their  children  and  a  prom- 
ise to  come  to  Sophie,  so  soon  as  they  could 
arrange  for  the  journey. 

Jean  might  therefore  leave  his  wife  and  child 
in  the  same  secure  refuge  where  he  had  found 
them,  until  he  should  have  opportunity  to  es- 
tablish a  home.  And  now  he  must  be  gone. 
For  the  second  time  Sophie  must  send  him 
forth  to  battle. 

Let  us  draw  a  veil  over  that  tender  parting  of 
husband  and  wife.  But  one  incident  we  must 
mention.  Jean  had  reluctantly  produced  the 
little  package  confided  to  him  by  the  Queen  of 
Navarre.  With  an  agitation  which  she  nerved 
herself  to  control,  Sophie  opened  it.  There 
was  the  little  bow-knot,  with  its  fantastic  pin; 
He  frowned  and  she  trembled,  as  they  looked  at 
the  innocent  occasion  of  so  much  misery,  now 
restored  to  them,  a  silent  witness  of  her  guilt 
who  was  now  in  the  grave. 

"Am  I  —  am  I  to  wear  it  again?"  he  stam- 
mered. 

309 


King  or  Knave 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  God  forbid  !  The  ill-omened 
stone !  Here  is  a  token  worthier  of  our  love." 

She  hung  a  locket  about  his  neck.  He 
pressed  the  spring  and  saw  a  miniature  of  his 
sweet  wife.  Her  tender  eyes  indeed,  but  veiled 
with  what  unutterable  sadness !  The  picture 
was  a  revelation  to  him  of  the  depths  of  sorrow 
through  which  that  loving  soul  had  passed.  He 
covered  it  with  kisses  and  pressed  her  again  to 
his  bosom. 

"  It  was  made  for  you,"  Sophie  murmured, 
"  at  a  time  when  my  heart  seemed  broken. 
Little  Paul  had  not  yet  come  to  cheer  me,  and  I 
thought  —  I  thought  I  might  never  see  you 
more.  I  wished  you  to  have  this  little  picture1 
as  a  token  that  —  that  I  died  loving  you." 

So  Jean  tore  himself  away  from  the  gentle 
Sophie  and  their  child  and  rode  northward  with 
all  haste.  His  movements  were  quickened  by 
ever-thickening  rumors  of  a  Spanish  invasion, 
and  the  pain  of  parting  from  his  bride  was 
almost  lost  in  anxiety  lest  he  should  be  too  late 
for  the  great  encounter.  In  the  inn  at  fitampes, 
where  he  spent  the  second  night,  he  met  a  group 

1  This  is  without  doubt  the  miniature  which  I  discovered 
among  the  Fourcade  papers.  It  is  reasonable  to  suppose 
that  it  descended  to  the  son  born  during  Sophie's  stay  in  the 
convent  and  remained  in  this  line.  If  this  surmise  is  correct, 
we  have  an  explanation  of  Pierre  Fourcade's  monomania. 
The  stigma  of  illegitimacy  in  his  ancestry  would  have  been  ill 
borne  by  one  whose  absorbing  thought  was  of  his  honorable 
lineage,  and  would  easily  have  upset  a  mind  never  well- 
balanced. —  THE  EDITOR. 

310 


King  or  Knave 

of  cavaliers  among  whom  he  recognized  familiar 
faces.  They  were  in  fact  Huguenot  gentlemen 
hastening  northward  with  the  same  purpose  as 
his.  With  them  he  finished  the  journey  on  the 
next  day  and  rode  into  the  camp  before  Dreux 
shortly  after  the  announcement  of  the  approach 
of  Mayenne  had  thrown  it  into  a  tumult  of 
excitement. 

Once  more  he  was  on  the  eve  of  a  great 
battle.  But  with  how  different  feelings  did  he 
approach  it  from  those  with  which  he  had  left 
Sophie  on  the  former  occasion  !  Then  he  was 
full  of  self-confidence  and  of  eager  anticipations. 
Now  he  had  the  calm,  deep  joy  of  knowing  that 
Sophie  was  his.  The  thought  of  her  tempered 
his  soldierly  ardor,  while  also  it  nerved  him  to 
do  his  duty  the  more  manfully.  But  deepest  of 
all  was  a  new-born,  thankful  trust  in  God.  He 
felt  that  a  Power  higher  than  human  had  dealt 
with  him.  Now,  having  passed  through  the 
sufferings  which  he  had  endured  in  just  expia- 
tion of  his  errors,  he  found  himself  looking  on 
life  with  the  chastened  vision  of  one  who  not  in 
vain  has  been  schooled  in  sorrow. 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-SIXTH 

How  Louis  de  Bellegarde,  thinking  to  win  Gabrielle, 
helps  to  make  her  bargain  fast. 

A  RAW  March  morning  and  the  friends  and 
foes  of  France  facing  each  other.  Each  side 
had  massed  its  strength  for  the  decisive  en- 
counter. Mayenne  had  brought  all  of  native 
military  force  that  the  League  could  rally  and  a 
large  foreign  contingent,  besides. 

A  formidable  array  it  was,  the  most  redoubt- 
able force  that  the  Holy  Union  had  yet  put  into 
the  field.  Besides  the  French  regiments,  there 
were  Swiss  and  German  auxiliaries,  professional 
soldiers.  And,  most  of  all,  there  were  thousands 
of  the  Duke  of  Parma's  veteran  legionaries,  sent 
from  the  Low  Countries,  to  help  the  cause  of 
the  faith,  swarthy  Spaniards,  inured  to  butchery 
under  Alva's  bloody  rule,  ruthless  scoundrels, 
seasoned  in  sack  and  slaughter,  in  rape  and 
pillage,  the  most  dreaded  soldiery  in  Europe. 
Then  there  was  a  picked  body  of  Belgian  horse, 
led  by  Count  Egmont. 

The   royal   army,    too,    though    still    greatly 
inferior  in  numbers,  had  received  large  acces- 
sions.    From  far  and  near  the  report  that  the 
312 


King  or  Knave 

League  was  marching  against  the  King  had 
summoned  to  his  aid  every  loyal  Catholic,  every 
"  politique,"  every  fervid  Huguenot,  who  could 
bear  arms.  Until  after  the  battle  had  begun, 
they  came  trooping  to  the  colors  in  groups 
and  companies,  bent  on  having  a  hand  in  the 
supreme  struggle. 

Each  commander,  too,  had  his  private  in- 
terest. To  Mayenne  victory  meant  full  control 
of  the  League  and  its  dependencies,  with  the 
crown  in  the  background.  For  Henry  his 
kingdom  was  at  stake,  his  country's  freedom 
from  foreign  domination,  —  and  Gabrielle. 

Of  course,  Heaven  must  be  invoked.  On  one 
side  the  austere  pastor,  Damours,  the  same  who 
had  prayed  on  the  glorious  fields  of  Coutras 
and  Arques,  asked  the  divine  blessing  on  the 
arms  of  the  faithful.  On  the  other  a  gray  friar 
advanced  to  the  front  and,  swinging  a  huge 
crucifix,  in  the  name  of  God  and  His  earthly 
vicar,  excommunicated,  execrated,  and  anathe- 
matized the  army  of  the  heretics,  living,  and 
damned  it,  dead,  to  the  flames  of  Hell  in  saecula 
saeculorum. 

A  discharge  of  cannon  caused  this  sacred 
functionary  to  retire  quickly,  as  if  he  had  small 
faith  in  his  bans  as  a  safeguard  against  powder 
and  iron. 

Just  as  the  battle  was  opening,  Henry  did  a 
characteristic  thing.  At  the  time  of  leaving 
Dreux,  a  German  colonel,  Schomberg,  had  asked 
for  some  money  for  his  troops.  Henry,  who 


King  or  Knave 

had  scarcely  a  sou  to  bless  himself  with,  had 
answered  him  bluntly,  "  No  man  of  honor  calls 
for  money  on  the  eve  of  a  battle."  Now  he 
rode  up  to  the  brave  Teuton  and  said,  "  Colonel 
Schomberg,  yesterday  I  said  an  insulting  thing 
to  you.  This  day  will  perhaps  be  the  last  of 
my  life.  I  would  not  willingly  take  away  the 
honor  of  a  gallant  gentleman.  Forgive  me,  I 
pray  you,  and  embrace  me." 

Schomberg  was  overcome.  "  Sire,"  he  said, 
"  you  did  indeed  wound  me.  To-day  you  kill 
me  outright."  He  spoke  truth,  for  he  died 
gloriously  on  the  field. 

As  Henry  was  making  his  final  dispositions, 
Marshal  de  Biron  rode  up  to  him  and  gruffly 
asked,  "  What  does  your  Majesty  wish  me  to  do 
with  the  new  colonel  you  have  made  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  my  faith,  I  do  not  much  care.  He  and 
his  regiment  are  not  to  be  trusted  in  any  difficult 
position.  Hold  them  as  part  of  your  reserve," 
Henry  replied. 

"  He  is  the  right  sort  of  stuff  to  make  colonels 
of.  I  congratulate  your  Majesty  on  your  dis- 
crimination," said  the  grim  old  soldier,  who,  on 
account  of  his  long  services,  took  even  greater 
liberties  than  others  with  a  monarch  who  never 
stood  on  his  dignity  with  anybody. 

The  King,  far  from  seeking  to  conceal  his 
identity  from  the  enemy,  had  made  himself  con- 
spicuous by  placing  a  great  bunch  of  white 
ostrich-plumes  in  his  casque  and  another  in  the 
headstall  of  his  bridle. 


King  or  Knave 

"  Comrades,"  he  said  to  those  near  him,  "  if 
at  any  time  you  lose  sight  of  your  ensigns,  keep 
your  eye  on  these  feathers.  You  will  be  safe  in 
following  them,  for  you  will  find  them  always  on 
the  road  to  honor." 

Now  Egmont's  Walloon  cavalry  moved  for- 
ward, to  open  the  battle.  Bending  low  in  his 
saddle;  with  spurs  set  in  his  horse's  flanks,  and 
waving  his  sword  with  a  great  shout,  the  Belgian 
count  led  his  heavy-armed  troopers  in  a  furious 
charge.  The  earth  trembled  under  the  hoofs  of 
the  ponderous  Flemish  steeds,  as  they  came  on 
in  a  thundering  gallop. 

"  Dastard  and  traitor,  serving  his  father's 
butchers !  "  exclaimed  Henry,  recognizing  the 
insignia  of  the  Belgian  nobleman. 

Opposite  the  Walloons  was  Chatillon's  veteran 
battalion,  the  same  invincible  warriors  who  had 
swept  the  field  at  Arques.  As  the  heavy  horse 
thundered  upon  them,  they  shouted  defiantly 
their  battle-cry,  "  Let  God  arise  and  let  His 
enemies  be  scattered  !  " 

In  another  moment  the  fierce  charge  burst 
like  a  breaking  sea  against  the  dense  array  of 
Huguenot  pikemen,  while  over  the  shoulders  of 
these  the  arquebusiers  poured  deadly  volleys  in 
quick  succession  into  the  hostile  ranks.  At  the 
same  time  the  royalist  cannon  tore  long  furrows 
through  them.  Egmont  fell  among  the  first. 
Their  leader  lost,  the  troopers  wavered,  then 
broke  and  retreated  in  disorder  on  the  support- 
ing lines.  The  spaces  left  between  the  several 


King  or  Knave 

bodies  of  the  Leaguers  for  the  movements  of  the 
cavalry  were  insufficient,  and  the  fleeing  horse- 
men crowded  the  infantry  battalions  into  a  con- 
fused mass,  unable  to  ply  their  weapons. 

The  German  reiters  met  with  no  better  suc- 
cess. The  royalist  horse  under  Givry  and  Mar- 
shal d'Aumont,  the  renowned  chivalry  of  the 
South,  met  them  in  mid  career  and  swept  them 
back  into  the  narrow  intervals  already  choked 
with  fugitives,  adding  fresh  disorder.  The  vet- 
eran Spanish  infantry  were  huddled  together 
into  an  impotent  mob.  The  best  foot-soldiers 
in  Europe  could  do  nothing.  It  was  the  cavalry 
who  fought  and  lost  the  day. 

Henry  was  quick  to  seize  the  auspicious 
moment  of  the  enemy's  confusion,  and  led  his 
centre  in  a  tremendous  charge  against  the  oppo- 
site mass.  Above  the  thicket  of  pikes  and 
gleaming  swords  the  white  plumes  tossed  like 
foam  on  the  crest  of  a  stormy  sea.  Hewing 
himself  a  path,  with  a  small  following,  he 
forced  his  way  into  the  densest  throng  of  the 
enemy. 

The  royalists  in  the  rear  saw  the  white 
plumes  waving  far  in  front.  They  were  in- 
spired with  a  wild  enthusiasm  and  began  to 
shout  the  cry  that  had  nerved  them  on  more 
than  one  glorious  field,  "  Navarre  !  Navarre  !  " 
It  was  taken  up  by  hundreds  of  voices,  and 
"  Navarre  !  Navarre  !  "  rang  out  over  the  din  of 
arms,  as  the  centre  pressed  forward,  carrying 
everything  before  it. 

316 


King  or  Knave 

Suddenly  came  a  hush,  followed  by  a  murmur 
of  dismay.  The  white  plumes  had  disappeared. 

"  He  is  down  !  The  King  has  fallen  !  "  was 
bruited. 

So  it  was  indeed.  Henry,  on  the  outermost 
edge  of  the  fray,  and  almost  surrounded  by  foe- 
men  cutting  and  thrusting  at  him,  had  received 
a  tremendous  blow  on  the  head  which,  in  spite 
of  his  casque  breaking  its  force,  sent  him  reel- 
ing senseless  to  the  ground.  His  nearest  com- 
rades pressed  forward  and  covered  his  body,  and 
the  fighting  raged  over  and  around  him. 

The  moment  was  full  of  peril.  Had  the  im- 
petuous Southern  horsemen,  under  their  revul- 
sion of  feeling,  been  driven  back  ever  so  little, 
it  would  have  been  difficult  to  re- animate  them 
with  the  same  buoyant  spirit.  Once  in  retreat, 
they  would  have  lost  the  &an  which  hitherto 
had  carried  everything  before  them.  And  the 
royalist  centre  broken,  the  dense  mass  of  the 
Leaguers  could  have  forced  itself  like  a  wedge 
between  the  wings  and  annihilated  them  at 
leisure. 

At  that  supreme  moment  there  rose  a  lusty 
cry,  "  Navarre  to  the  rescue  !  Who  will  help  to 
save  the  white  plumes?"  It  came  from  Belle- 
garde,  who  from  a  little  way  off  had  seen  the 
danger  of  disaster. 

The  response  was  instantaneous.  "  I,"  "  I,'* 
"  I,"  came  from  a  hundred  throats,  and  there 
was  a  great  surge  toward  the  spot  where  the 
plumes  had  sunk  in  the  tide  of  battle. 


King  or  Knave 

Louis  led  the  onset,  and  with  irresistible  force 
the  assailants  flung  themselves  against  the 
enemy  beginning  to  rally,  pushed  them  back 
and  cleared  a  space  around  the  prostrate  form 
of  their  leader. 

The  King's  faithful  henchman,  Jean  Four- 
cade,  had  removed  his  casque,  to  give  him  air. 
Now  he  cried  joyfully,  "  He  lives !  The  King 
lives ! " 

In  an  instant  Bellegarde  was  on  his  feet  and 
at  his  master's  side,  kneeling  over  him,  and  his 
was  the  first  face  that  greeted  Henry,  as  he 
opened  his  eyes. 

"  Thank  God,  Sire !  You  will  soon  lead  us 
again,"  he  cried  enthusiastically. 

With  a  happy  inspiration,  he  seized  the  casque 
and  its  plumes  and  placed  it  on  a  pike-staff. 
Then  he  waved  it  high  in  the  air,  shouting  in 
trumpet  tones,  "  The  King  is  safe  !  He  is  well. 
Forward,  comrades  !  Charge  !  " 

The  effect  of  this  announcement  was  electri- 
cal. A  jubilant  shout  rose  from  the  foremost 
ranks  and  rolled  back,  echoed  and  re-echoed 
by  those  far  in  the  rear,  who  only  understood 
that  something  especially  encouraging  had 
taken  place  in  front.  The  whole  royalist  army, 
animated  by  one  eager  impulse,  surged  forward 
in  a  mighty  rush  and  drove  the  disordered 
Leaguers  helpless  before  them. 

Then  Biron  launched  his  reserve  upon  the 
shattered  ranks  of  the  foe  and  completed  their 
rout.  Louis's  heart  leaped  with  generous  pride, 


King  or  Knave 

as  he  saw  his  friend  Gaston,  at  the  head  of  his 
regiment,  sweeping  like  a  whirlwind  along  the 
flank  and  falling  upon  the  enemy. 

The  two  comrades  had  met  for  a  single  mo- 
ment that  morning,  before  the  battle  began,  and 
Louis  had  been  struck  by  a  fierce  irritability  in 
Gaston.  The  excitement  of  battle  he  supposed 
it  to  be,  increased  perhaps  by  the  sense  of  his 
trying  position  as  the  commander  of  older  offi- 
cers who  would  be  keen  to  criticise  his  conduct 
in  action.  Now  he  rejoiced  that  Gaston's  oppor- 
tunity had  come  and  he  was  using  it  so  well. 

Everywhere  the  rout  of  the  Leaguers  was 
complete.  Mayenne  and  other  chiefs  had  fled 
the  field,  and  their  followers  were  slaughtered 
like  sheep.  Henry,  now  fully  recovered,  was  in 
the  saddle  again  and  careering  over  the  field, 
directing  the  pursuit. 

"  Spare  our  countrymen,"  he  shouted,  "  but 
give  no  quarter  to  the  foreigners." 

The  latter  injunction  was  not  needed.  The 
infuriated  royalists  were  revelling  in  carnage. 
The  Spaniards  expiated  at  Ivry  their  butcheries 
in  Holland. 

The  field  was  fast  clearing  itself  of  combatants. 
Only  the  sound  of  pistol-shots  and  cries,  dying 
away  in  the  distance,  told  of  the  pursuit  and 
slaughter  rolling  away  to  the  eastward. 

Bellegarde,  who  had  no  stomach  for  that  sort 
of  work,  lingered  behind.  Now  he  rode  up  to 
the  King. 

"  Sire,"  he   cried  enthusiastically,  "  I   salute 


King  or  Knave 

you  King  of  France,  in  fact,  as  well  as  by  divine 
right.  For  this  day  ruins  the  League  and  surely 
seats  you  on  the  throne  of  your  ancestors." 

"  Baron  of  Bellegarde  I  salute  you,  for  Baron 
you  shall  be,  I  swear,  so  soon  as  I  am  crowned," 
replied  the  King  with  equal  warmth. 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  Sire,"  returned  the 
young  man,  and,  falling  on  one  knee,  he  seized 
his  hand  and  kissed  it  warmly. 

"  You  have  nobly  earned  all  that  I  can  do  for 
you,"  said  Henry.  "  By  your  spirited  conduct 
you  have  saved  the  day  for  us." 

"  And  won  Gabrielle  for  myself,"  murmured 
Louis,  still  bending  over  his  master's  hand. 

The  words  did  not  escape  the  other's  quick 
ear.  Something  like  a  pang  of  compunction 
shot  through  him,  as  he  looked  on  this  gallant 
gentleman,  honorable  and  true,  whom  he  had 
meanly  supplanted,  and  upon  whom  he  medi- 
tated putting  a  great  shame. 


320 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-SEVENTH 

How  Gabrielle,  seeking  to  follow  her  heart,  finds  that 
her  bargain  binds. 

ON  the  plains  of  Ivry  the  fortune  of  France, 
of  Europe,  was  fighting  itself  out.  A  few  miles 
away  a  conflict  not  less  fierce  was  raging  in  a 
woman's  heart. 

After  a  night  of  anxious  tossing  Gabrielle 
had  risen,  early.  Oh,  that  awful  day!  What 
was  it  to  her  that  the  fate  of  her  country  hung 
in  the  balance,  so  vastly  more  absorbing  was 
her  personal  interest  in  the  issue?  She  could 
not  sit  still.  She  could  not  fix  her  thoughts. 
On  the  field  his  life  was  in  peril,  that  life  which, 
with  her  re-awakened  love,  had  grown  tenfold 
dearer.  With  the  illumination  which  she  had 
lately  experienced  had  come  an  impassioned 
tenderness  for  Louis.  Oh,  that  she  might  throw 
herself  at  his  feet  and  expiate  her  shameful 
wrong !  How  gladly  would  she  shrink  away 
from  all  greatness !  Better  a  hovel  with  Louis 
than  a  palace  with  the  other. 

What  a  cruel  strait  she  was  in !     The  King's 

victory  meant  her  shame ;  his  defeat,  her  release. 

But  at  what  fearful  cost !     Every  hope  of  those 

whom   she   loved  was    centred   on   that  day's 

21  321 


King  or  Knave 

success.  Its  loss  would  surely  mean  death  to 
Louis,  for  that  chivalrous  soul  would  never 
desert  his  King,  and  Henry  had  in  her  own 
presence  vowed  that  he  would  not  leave  the 
field  alive,  save  as  victor. 

God  in  Heaven !  Was  no  deliverance  possi- 
ble? Yes,  if  there  should  be  no  battle  !  One  party 
or  the  other  might  shun  the  final  encounter.  A 
merciful  Providence  might  yet  avert  this  dreaded 
conflict.  How  impotent  was  man,  how  omnipo- 
tent God !  In  a  passion  of  weeping  she  flung 
herself  on  her  knees  and  cried  to  Him  from  the 
depth  of  her  agony.  Surely  He  would  be  piti- 
ful to  a  helpless  mortal,  to  a  motherless  girl 
betrayed  into  a  cruel  snare. 

She  rose  from  her  knees,  went  to  a  window 
looking  towards  Ivry  and  hung  out  with  breath- 
less attention. 

All  serene  was  the  face  of  Nature.  Heedless 
of  mortal  cares  the  old  world  rolled  on  its  way. 
An  early  herald  of  spring  carolled  from  a  tree- 
top.  No  note  in  his  song  of  the  death-struggle 
waging  a  few  miles  away,  nor  of  sympathy  with 
the  soul  in  agony  near  by.  His  lay  sounded  a 
knell.  How  ruthless  this  serenity  of  Nature, 
this  unchanging  order,  swerving  not  to  right  or 
left  for  all  the  prayers  and  tears  of  men  ! 

Her  heart  sank.  Battle  was  inevitable. 
Mayenne  had  hastened  thither  expressly  for  it, 
and  Henry  had  vowed  to  stake  his  kingdom 
and  life  on  the  encounter. 

Hark!  What  was  that  sound?  Was  it  the 
322 


King  or  Knave 

throbbing  of  her  own  heart?  Or  did  the  air 
bring  the  distant  rumble  of  cannon?  She  list- 
ened, in  breathless  suspense.  It  must  be  so ! 
The  hour  had  come.  On  yonder  field  her  judg- 
ment hung  in  the  balance. 

In  a  new  passion  of  prayer  she  flung  herself 
at  the  foot  of  a  crucifix,  her  beautiful  hands 
outstretched,  her  golden  hair  falling  in  disorder 
over  her  shoulders,  pale,  her  eyes  red,  her  wan 
cheeks  stained  with  tears,  her  bloodless  lips 
moving  in  alternate  moans  and  prayers. 

Each  time  she  began  with  a  formal  petition 
and  tried  to  hold  her  thoughts  to  the  familiar 
words  of  the  Ave  Maria  or  the  Pater.  Each 
time  a  flood  of  feeling  swept  over  her  and  bore 
her  on  from  the  language  of  custom  to  the  wail 
of  the  burdened  heart  in  a  spontaneous  litany : 

"  O  Father  of  Heaven,  shield  and  bring  him 
safe  from  the  battle  ! 

"  O  Jesu,  Saviour,  by  thy  sufferings,  by  Thy 
cross  and  passion,  by  Thine  agony  of  death, 
save  a  wretched  sinner ! 

"  O  Mary,  Mother  of  sorrows,  most  merciful, 
most  chaste,  hear  and  save  thy  child  !  " 

Then,  worn  out  with  the  conflict  of  feeling, 
she  sank  at  the  foot  of  the  crucifix.  The  eyes 
of  the  sculptured  Man  of  Sorrows  seemed  to 
look  down  pitifully  on  her. 

Now  she  rose  and  again  flung  open  the  case- 
ment.    It  was  unmistakable.     The  air  throbbed 
with  the  sound,  now  faint  and  infrequent,  now 
swelling  to  a  sullen  roar. 
323 


King  or  Knave 

So  a  weary  hour  passed  in  sobs  and  prayers. 
Then,  a  third  time,  she  listened.  There  was  no 
sound  of  cannon  now.  It  was  over.  Her  judg- 
ment was  passed  !  There  was  nothing  now  but 
to  await  the  sentence. 

Another  hour  crept  by  on  leaden  feet.  Then 
the  clatter  of  a  horse's  hoofs  was  heard  in  the 
courtyard.  Her  ear,  quick  with  anxiety,  caught 
the  sound.  She  rushed  to  the  window  and 
looked  out. 

It  was  Louis.     He  was  safe  !     Thank  God  ! 

In  another  moment  he  burst  into  the  room, 
covered  with  dust  and  blood,  but  radiant  with 
hope. 

•  "  J°y>  Gabrielle  !  Victory  and  honor  !    France 
is  saved ! " 

"  And  I  —  am  lost !  "  she  cried,  then  sank  into 
a  seat. 

He  advanced  and  seized  her  cold  hand  and 
carried  it  to  his  lips.  But  she  wrested  it  from 
him.  Then  he  noticed  her  wan  countenance, 
her  swollen  eyes,  her  dishevelled  hair. 

"My'  God!  What  ails  you,  Gabrielle?"  he 
cried  in  amazement.  "  Speak,  I  implore  you." 

But  not  a  word  passed  her  ashy  lips.  There 
she  sat  in  the  silence  of  despair,  pale  as  death, 
her  eyes  fixed,  her  head  drooping,  the  beautiful 
hands  limp  by  her  side,  no  sign  of  life,  save  the 
breath  coming  and  going  in  quick  gasps. 

"  God  in  Heaven  !     What  is  this  ?  "  cried  her 
lover    impetuously.     "  Have    you   no   word   of 
weicome  for  me  ?     See  !    I  bring  you  tidings  of 
324 


King  or  Knave 

a  great  victory,  of  the  King's  triumph,  of 
Gaston's,  of  mine.  I  come  to  you,  fresh  from  a 
glorious  field,  my  heart  full  of  the  sweetest  hopes. 
And  you  seem  to  see  in  me  a  messenger  of 
death." 

"  Worse  !  Of  shame,"  she  whispered  hoarsely. 

"  Of  shame  ?  Never,  thank  God  !  What  mean 
these  strange  words,  Mademoiselle?  Know 
that  Louis  de  Bellegarde  has  no  acquaintance 
with  shame.  Oh  !  Speak,  I  implore  you  ! "  And 
he  threw  himself  at  her  feet,  seized  the  lifeless 
hand  and,  pressing  it  with  ardor,  continued  in  a 
flood  of  eager  words,  "  Only  speak,  Gabrielle, 
life  of  my  soul !  Tell  me  what  dreadful  delusion 
possesses  you  to  couple  my  name  with  shame, 
when  I  have  helped  to  save  France." 

"And  I  have  lost  myself — and  you!"  she 
cried.  "Oh,  my  God !  that  you  should  aid  in 
my  undoing ! " 

"How?  What?  Speak,  Gabrielle !  What  do 
you  mean  by  these  wild  words?  Is  there  no 
end  of  your  enigmas?"  He  had  started  to  his 
feet  and  stood  staring  at  her  in  wonder. 

"  This  day,  Louis  de  Bellegarde,  seals  my 
shame,"  she  answered  slowly.  Then  suddenly 
she  threw  herself  at  his  feet  and  cried,  "  Spurn 
me,  Louis,  whose  heart  knows  only  honor  and 
truth.  I  am  vile.  Spurn  me  — " 

"  Hold,  Gabrielle,  I  pray  you  !  In  God's  name, 
cease  these  ravings  !     Some  strange  trouble  has 
disturbed  you.     Rise,  I  beg  you,  and  calm  your- 
self."    And  he  essayed  to  raise  her. 
325 


King  or  Knave 

But  she  grovelled  at  his  feet  and  cried,  "  Nay, 
touch  me  not !  Hold  your  honest  hands  aloof 
from  a  dishonored  wretch  !  " 

"  What !  "  he  cried,  starting  back  and  fixing 
on  her  a  piercing  look.  Dark  suspicions  flashed 
through  his  mind.  What  shameful  experiences 
could  alone  account  for  such  self-abasement? 
This  from  the  proud  Gabrielle !  What  secret  of 
sin  and  remorse  was  revealing  its  hideous  face? 
Then  he  remembered  the  years  of  absence,  and 
how  strangely  altered  he  had  found  her.  He 
recalled  his  strong  impression  of  an  occult  and 
malign  influence  warping  her  nature.  At  that 
memory  his  heart  sank.  Now  the  dark  enigma 
was  solving  itself. 

"  Dishonored  !  Sold  !  Bartered  for  —  God 
knows  what !  "  she  moaned. 

She  had  risen  to  her  knees  and,  with  her  body 
swaying  to  and  fro,  her  hands  covering  her 
burning  cheeks,  poured  forth  her  fragmentary 
confession. 

Her  lover  eyed  her  sternly.  When  he  spoke, 
his  voice  was  hoarse  and  strange. 

"What  is  this  crime  that  lies  so  heavy  on 
your  conscience?" 

How  could  she  tell  the  shameful  truth?  For 
a  while  there  was  not  a  word  spoken.  But  she 
knelt  there,  her  face  covered.  Then  Bellegarde 
broke  the  stillness  again,  and  his  words  fell  slow 
and  icy. 

"  Is  this  thing  that  you  have  done  so  vile  that 
your  tongue  cannot  tell  it?" 
326 


King  or  Knave 

"  Not  done  —  planned  —  pledged  myself  to 
do,"  she  faltered. 

A  great  hope  leaped  up  in  his  heart.  "Speak, 
Gabrielle !  Quick !  In  God's  name,  tell  me 
what  is  it?"  he  flung  out." 

"  I  am  —  to  marry  —  "  she  said  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

A  cloud  of  jealousy  darkened  his  soul. 

"  Ah,  that  indeed  !  "  he  said  coldly.  "  You 
have  doubtless  selected  a  fit  partner.  But 
why  this  humiliation?  And  who  is  the  favored 
suitor?" 

"  A  Monsieur  —  de  Liancourt,"  she  faltered. 

"  Impossible ! "  he  cried  in  amazement. 
"Liancourt!  Drivelling  dotard  !  Decrepit  miser ! 
You  have  contracted  to  marry  him,  —  you  to 
mate  with  such  a  creature !  It  cannot  be." 

Then  a  light  dawned  upon  him. 

"Ah,  I  see,"  he  said,  dropping  his  words 
slowly,  "  Monsieur  de  Liancourt  is  willing,  for  a 
consideration,  to  lend  his  name  to  another ;  per- 
chance, to  cloak  a  royal  caprice.  The  beautiful 
arrangement !  " 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  writhed. 
Each  syllable  cut  like  a  whip. 

He  continued  relentlessly,  "And  you  have 
done  this  shameful  thing !  You  have  contracted 
to  deliver  your  honor,  God  save  the  mark !  for 
a  fixed  price  !  HOW  much,  I  wonder.  At  what 
value  does  a  maiden  of  such  and  such  qualities 
rate  herself ?  Beautiful — yes;  high-born — yes; 
proud  —  yes  —  that  is,  once.  She  must  come 
327 


King  or  Knave 

high.  But  she  knows  her  market,  doubtless. 
And  his  Majesty  is  no  niggard  where  beauty 
is  concerned.  Let  us  hope  that  his  newest 
acquisition  will  find  her  splendor  worth  the 
price." 

Not  a  word  from  her.  Only  her  body  still 
swayed  back  and  forth,  and  the  beautiful  hands 
still  covered  the  burning  face. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Gabrielle 
answered  it.  Her  hostess's  maid  handed  her  a 
note,  marked  "  Urgent."  She  tore  it  open  and 
read :  — 

DEAREST  GABRIELLE,  —  Something  whispers  to  me 
that  your  visitor  has  come  to  ask  your  hand.  Give 
it  to  him,  my  child.  A  true  man,  such  as  he,  will 
crown  your  life  with  happiness.  I  read  love  in  his 
eyes,  when  he  came  here,  two  days  since.  And  I 
rejoiced  for  your  sake,  for  I  saw  in  him  a  noble 
and  generous  soul. 

If  my  surmise  is  correct,  take  him,  my  child,  with- 
out fear  or  hesitation.  The  heart  of  a  true  man  is  a 
prize  that  falls  to  the  lot  of  few  women. 

Also,  I  am  warranted  in  speaking  for  your  father. 
He  has  committed  you  to  my  care,  with  the  request 
that  I  would  act  for  you  in  a  mother's  stead.  And 
your  mother,  who  is  in  Paradise,  if  she  were  here, 
would  rejoice  to  give  you  to  one  so  worthy.  More- 
over, Monsieur  de  Bellegarde  surely  has  before  him 
an  honored  career.  Happy  the  woman  who  possesses 
his  love  ! 

I  anticipate  the  one  objection  that  may  arise,  and, 
God  be  praised  1  it  is  in  my  power  to  meet  it.  Rely 
328 


King  or  Knave 

on  a  liberal  dower  from  me  and,  at  my  death,  a  large 
inheritance  from 

Yours,  with  a  heart  full  of  love, 

ANTOINETTE  DE  G. 

With  a  cry,  "  Too  late !  Too  late !  "  Gabri- 
elle  sank  into  a  seat.  Here  were  love,  honor, 
and  happiness  placed  within  her  reach.  With 
faith  to  be  true  to  herself,  they  would  now  be 
hers !  And  these  priceless  things  she  had  for- 
feited by  her  greed  and  selfishness.  Great  God  ! 
Had  her  punishment  already  begun,  the  crime 
still  incomplete? 

Horses'  hoofs  clattered  again  in  the  court- 
yard. A  moment  more  and  Lisette,  with  terri- 
fied countenance,  opened  the  door,  and  a  soldier 
tottered  into  the  room.  He  was  ghastly  pale, 
and  a  bandage  covering  a  wound  in  the  head 
was  saturated  with  blood. 

Gabrielle  recognized  Blaise  Jourdan,  her 
brother's  faithful  attendant  from  his  infancy. 
When  the  heir  of  Cceuvres  was  little  more  than 
a  baby,  his  proud  father  had  selected  Blaise, 
then  a  likely  young  fellow,  to  wait  upon  his 
little  master.  As  the  boy  advanced  in  years,  he 
became  deeply  attached  to  his  humble  friend. 
Nobody  could  do  anything  quite  so  well  as 
Blaise.  From  him  he  learned  the  accomplish- 
ments which  a  boy  most  admires.  It  was  Blaise 
who  taught  the  young  lord  to  ride  and  to  swim, 
to  make  a  trap,  to  set  a  snare,  to  make  a  fly 
and  to  cast  it,  and  all  the  mysteries  of  hawking. 
329 


King  or  Knave 

And  when  the  time  came  for  the  youth  to  go 
forth  into  the  world,  Blaise  must  still  attend  him. 

It  was  he  who  now  appeared  in  so  alarming 
guise.  At  the  sight  of  him,  alone  and  wounded, 
Gabrielle  started  to  her  feet  in  terror. 

"  Tell  me,  Blaise,"  she  cried,  "  is  anything 
amiss?  Where  is  my  brother?  Is  he  well?" 

"  He  is  —  well,  Mademoiselle,"  he  answered 
slowly.  Then  drawing  himself  up  in  a  soldierly 
attitude,  he  added  in  a  voice  in  which  grief  and 
pride  struggled,  "He  sleeps — a  soldier's  death." 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  No,  it  cannot  be  !  Oh,  my 
brother !  " 

"  Nay,  hold  !  There  is  surely  some  mistake," 
cried  Bellegarde  eagerly.  "  I  saw  him,  when 
the  battle  was  won,  and  the  enemy  in  full 
flight.  He  rode  gallantly  at  the  head  of  his 
regiment." 

"  Even  so,  Monsieur  de  Bellegarde.  Through- 
out the  battle  he  was  unhurt,  only  too  safe,  he 
thought.  He  chafed  furiously  at  our  inactivity, 
for  the  regiment  was  held  in  reserve.  He  could 
not  endure  to  see  others  fighting,  while  we  were 
kept  idle.  Never  had  I  seen  him  so  excited. 
He  acted  as  if  an  inward  fire  was  consuming 
him.  Perhaps  it  was  the  sight  of  bloodshed 
that  made  him  wild.  Once  he  rode  up  to 
Marshal  de  Biron  and  craved  leave  to  lead  the 
regiment  into  action. 

" '  Back  to  your  place,  sir !     When  your  force 
is  needed,  you  will  receive  orders  to  move,'  was 
the  old  general's  answer. 
330 


King  or  Knave 

"That  seemed  to  make  him  more  impatient 
still.  He  fretted  and  raged.  Even  for  me  he 
had  scarcely  a  calm  word.  He  seemed  utterly 
changed  from  his  old  self.  At  last,  when  the 
Leaguers  were  breaking  in  confusion,  the  order 
came  to  lead  the  regiment  in  pursuit.  At  once 
he  waved  his  sword,  shouted  the  command  to 
charge,  and  led  the  way  like  the  wind.  He 
soon  outstripped  us  all  and  was  among  the  flee- 
ing Leaguers,  cutting  right  and  left  like  a  demon. 
But  that  was  not  enough.  He  made  straight 
for  a  body  of  the  enemy  riding  together  in  com- 
pact order,  a  score  at  the  least.  I  shouted  to 
him  to  have  a  care,  for  there  was  at  the  most 
a  handful  of  us  who  had  kept  near  him,  and 
the  Leaguers,  seeing  how  few  we  were,  had 
faced  about  and  stood  their  ground. 

"  In  vain.  He  threw  himself  alone  against 
them.  Our  little  band  supported  him,  as  quickly 
as  we  could  come  up.  But  what  could  we  do? 
Alas !  he  had  fallen,  at  the  first  shock.  We 
fought  over  him,  where  he  lay.  Several  fell 
around  him.  I  did  not  myself  come  off  whole. 
By  this  time  a  considerable  force  had  come  up, 
and  we  killed  or  routed  the  rest  of  the  Leaguers. 
But,  alas!  it  was  too  late.  His  wound  was 
mortal.  He  knew  it,  and  then,  strange!  he 
was  happy.  He  was  again  like  the  boy  of 
other  days. 

'  My  poor  Blaise,  you  are  hurt/  he  said. 
' '  Only  a  scratch,'  I  answered. 

"  '  My  good  Blaise,'  he  said,  '  you  have  served 


King  or  Knave 

me  faithfully  all  my  life.  Will  you  do  my  last 
errand  ? ' 

" '  While  there  is  breath  in  my  body/  I 
answered. 

"  '  Take  this  letter/  he  said,  '  to  my  sister  at 
the  chateau  of  La  Roche-Guyon.  Let  nothing 
hinder  you,  and  go  without  delay.  Tell  her  that 
you  brought  it  straight  from  me  dying  and  that 
it  is  wet  with  my  heart's  blood.' 

"  He  never  spoke  again,  but  only  smiled  on 
me,  as  in  the  old  days.  Then  it  was  all  over, 
and  these  hands  that  have  tended  him  so  many 
years,  closed  his  eyes." 

The  faithful  fellow  had  hardly  restrained  his 
grief  during  this  recital.  Now  he  broke  down 
utterly,  as  he  drew  forth  and  handed  to  Gabrielle 
a  letter  smeared  with  blood. 

"Take  it  —  my  young  mistress,"  he  sobbed. 
"  God  knows,  I  would  have  willingly  died  to 
bring  you  this  last  message  from  my  dear 
master,  for  it  surely  will  be  a  comfort  to  you 
to  know  that  his  last  thought  was  of  you,  whom 
he  loved  so  tenderly." 

Gabrielle  shuddered,  as  she  received  the 
ominous-looking  missive.  With  trembling  hands 
she  tore  it  open  and  began  to  read. 

As  she  proceeded,  a  mortal  agitation  seized 
her.  She  gasped  and  clutched  the  arm  of  her 
chair. 

Then  she  fell  back  with  a  cry,  "My  God! 
He  curses  me  !  " 

"  Impossible ! "  cried  Bellegarde,  and  he 
332 


King  or  Knave 

snatched  the  paper  from  her  hand  and  read  it. 
It  ran  thus :  — 

MADEMOISELLE  D'ESTREES, —  I  write  on  the  eve 
of  battle.  I  shall  not  survive  the  morrow.  I  shall 
seek  a  soldier's  death.  I  was  not  born  to  live  in  in- 
famy, and  to  me  the  grave  is  sweeter  than  life,  since 
I  have  learned  the  story  of  your  shame. 

An  officer  just  now  taunted  me  with  rising  on  my 
sister's  dishonor,  of  which  he  swore  that  he  had  proof 
absolute.  We  fought  on  the  spot,  and  I  killed  the 
cur.  But  now  I  know  that  he  spoke  truth.  His 
Majesty's  singling  me  out  for  promotion  gratified  me, 
fool  that  I  was !  Now  I  see  in  it  the  proof  of  our 
family's  shame. 

Think  you  that  I  could  live  surrounded  by  those 
who  would  despise  me  ?  No  !  A  thousand  times 
rather  let  me  die  !  Go  on,  then,  in  the  career  you 
have  chosen.  But  let  the  thought  haunt  you,  that 
you  have  already  sent  a  brother  to  his  death,  and 
that  a  father  will  soon  follow  him  to  a  dishonored 
grave. 

I  send  my  last  bequest  —  a  brother's  curse. 

GASTON  D'ESTREES. 

Bellegarde  stood  aghast.  Would  to  God  that 
his  poor  friend  had  died  ignorant  of  the  shame- 
ful secret !  How  his  proud  soul  must  have  felt 
the  dishonor  of  his  family,  of  the  sister  in  whom 
he  gloried ! 

Now  he  understood  Gaston's  manner  on  that 
fateful  morning.  He  recalled  the  sullen  fury  in 
his  eye;  how,  when  the  King  was  mentioned, 
333 


King  or  Knave 

his  brow  lowered ;  and  his  emotion  at  their 
parting,  when  he  embraced  him,  as  if  for  a  long 
farewell,  and  muttered  "  Poor  Louis !  " 

He  sank  into  a  seat.  A  long  time  passed  in 
silence,  the  one  sitting  with  her  face  buried  in 
her  hands,  while  waves  of  sorrow  and  shame 
swept  over  her;  the  other  absorbed  in  reflec- 
tions scarcely  less  painful. 

For  the  one  the  day  of  judgment  had  come. 
She  stood  revealed  to  herself  and  self-con- 
demned. It  was  no  longer  possible  to  blink 
the  truth,  to  delude  herself  with  fine  phrases. 
It  was  her  own  wayward  will  that  had  wrought 
this  ruin. 

Bellegarde's  thoughts  were  busy  with  retro- 
spection. Things  inexplicable  in  the  past  grew 
clear.  The  secret  influence  working  upon 
Gabrielle  was  exposed.  And  he  had  been  made 
a  fool !  He  had  laid  his  heart  at  her  feet,  and 
she  had  trodden  it  underfoot. 

His  bitter  meditations  were  interrupted  by  an 
exclamation  from  Gabrielle,  as  if  she  were  think- 
ing aloud,  "  Oh,  my  brother,  what  has  not  your 
advancement  cost  me  !  And  now  the  sacrifice 
is  vain !  And  you  died  despising  me  for  it." 

A  new  light  broke  upon  Bellegarde.  He 
caught  at  the  hope  that  she  was  not  at  heart 
bad,  but  the  victim  of  a  mistaken  devotion. 
He  threw  himself  at  her  feet,  overwhelmed  with 
contrition. 

"  Ah,  forgive  me,  Gabrielle  !  I  have  wronged 
you.  Oh,  tell  me  that,  if  you  have  erred,  it 
334 


King  or  Knave 

has  been  through  love  of  your  family,  of  Gas- 
ton,  and  lift  a  great  burden  from  my  heart !  " 

"  You  have  divined  the  truth.  Ah !  Louis, 
always  my  poor  heart  pleaded  for  you,  even 
when  I  seemed  coldest.  But  what  could  I 
do?  Think  of  my  father's  poverty  and  cease- 
less reiteration  of  the  idea  that  a  girl's  heart  is 
not  to  be  considered,  where  the  family  interest 
is  concerned !  Think  of  my  poor  brother's 
ambition  and  how  he  chafed  at  his  obscurity ! 
Think  of  my  love  for  him  and  my  longing  to 
serve  him  and  lift  our  family  to  its  rightful 
place  !  Oh,  Louis  !  Do  not  despise,  but  pity 
me,  as  the  victim  of  a  cruel  necessity." 

How  could  he  withstand  such  an  avowal? 
His  reason  condemned,  but  his  heart  embraced 
her.  Still  he  restrained  himself. 

"  And  you  did  what?"  he  asked  in  a  softened 
voice. 

"In  an  evil  hour — I  pledged  myself — to 
him,"  she  faltered. 

"  How  was  this  possible,  without  your  father's 
knowledge,  your  father,  so  watchful  and  so  ex- 
acting?" 

"  We  had  secret  meetings,"  she  faltered,  hang- 
ing her  head. 

"And  you  met  him  as  —  his  mistress?" 

"  Oh,  my  God !  No  !  Never !  Lisette  was 
always  there.  I  am  pure,  pure  as  the  Mother 
of  God,"  she  cried,  raising  herself  from  her 
lowly  attitude  and  facing  him  with  something 
of  her  old  self-assertion.. 

335 


King  or  Knave 

"  Is  not  purity  of  the  heart,  rather  than  of  the 
body?  "  he  asked  sadly.  And  before  his  steady 
eye  she  bowed  her  head  again. 

She  saw  it  all  now,  that  she  had  lived  a  lie, 
not  to  the  world  only,  but  to  herself,  deluded 
by  the  glamour  of  the  thing  she  secretly  longed 
for.  Bellegarde  stood  before  her  as  the  em- 
bodiment of  all  that  was  worthiest  in  her 
thoughts,  of  the  happy  days  ere  this  corrupting 
influence  had  come  into  her  life. 

A  ray  of  hope  darted  into  her  mind.  He 
stood  for  the  best  in  her  past.  Why  not  in  her 
future?  She  flung  herself  at  his  feet.  She 
seized  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  Louis,  Louis !  whom  alone  I  have  ever 
loved,  save  me  !  " 

How  his  heart  yearned  towards  the  beautiful 
creature  grovelling  before  him  !  But  the  awful 
fact  of  her  treachery  remained.  With  a  great 
effort,  he  still  held  himself  in  hand.  He  would 
understand  the  conditions  with  which  he  must 
deal. 

"  But  you  are  pledged,"  he  said  slowly ;  "  you 
have  entered  into  an  engagement  to  live  with 
him  as  his  mistress,  under  the  cloak  of  a  false 
marriage." 

She  only  groaned  and  covered  her  face. 

"  You  are  bound  to  this  on  what  conditions?  " 

Still  no  word  from  her. 

Then  a  new  light  came  to  her  lover,  as  he 
pondered.  She  had  waited  to  see  what  his 
rival's  fortune  would  be.  The  infamy  of  her 
336 


King  or  Knave 

calculation !  This  was  the  meaning  of  those 
words  of  hers  which  to  his  fond  heart  had 
been  so  full  of  the  sweetest  hope,  "  All  will 
depend  on  the  issue  of  the  next  battle  !  " 

The  bottom  fact  was  reached  at  last.  She 
had  not  erred  through  a  passing  weakness. 
With  cool  premeditation,  she  had  made  her 
terms,  offered  herself  as  the  prize  of  victory. 
And  he,  blind  fool,  had  thrown  his  heart  into 
winning  that  field  which  was  to  give  her  to  the 
other !  He  groaned  in  sheer  pain.  Not  to  be 
loved  a  man  might  bear.  But  to  love  such  a 
creature  and  to  know  her  at  last !  Would  that 
he  had  died  with  Gaston,  now  forever  uncon- 
scious of  mortal  shame ! 

"  Ah  !  I  see  it  all,"  he  said.  "  You  would  not 
give  yourself  to  the  struggling  claimant  of  the 
throne.  You  have  waited  to  see  him  make  his 
title  good." 

Only  a  groan  from  Gabrielle. 

"  Now,"  he  continued,  and  his  tone  was  hard 
and  fierce,  "  the  time  is  ripe.  The  victorious 
King  of  France  will  possess  the  prize  for  which 
the  struggling  King  of  Navarre  has  been  fain  to 
wait." 

She  could  endure  no  more.  Her  overstrained 
feeling  burst  out  in  a  bitter  cry,  "  Louis,  spare 
me !  Be  pitiful !  Do  not  you  break  my 
heart." 

Again  she  threw  herself  at  his  feet  and  moaned, 
as  earlier  she  had  lain  at  the  foot  of  the  crucifix. 
No  humiliation  was  too  great.  How  could  she 
22  337 


King  or  Knave 

let  this  heart  that  once  trusted  her  wholly,  be 
closed  to  her  forever?  At  that  moment  it 
seemed  as  if  her  only  hope  in  all  the  world  lay 
in  his  mercy. 

"  Oh,  judge  me  not  too  harshly !  "  she  pleaded. 
"  Think  of  my  lonely,  motherless  girlhood,  with- 
out guide  or  counsellor  !  Think  of  my  father, 
so  stern  and  so  embittered  by  poverty !  Think 
of  poor  Gaston,  so  aspiring  !  Oh,  Louis  !  mine 
has  been  a  hard  fate.  A  cruel  destiny  has 
driven  me,  against  my  will." 

He  was  deeply  touched.  He  knew  the  truth 
of  her  plea.  But  he  knew  also,  that  it  was 
only  the  smaller  part  of  the  truth ;  that  greater 
and  stronger  than  the  things  she  had  urged 
was  her  own  wilful  self.  He  shook  his  head 
sorrowfully. 

"  Every  one  carries  his  destiny  in  his  own 
bosom.  Ah,  Gabrielle,  before  the  thing  that 
we  do  is  always  the  thing  that  we  are.  Believe 
me,  outward  circumstance  gets  no  hold  but 
through  that  which  is  within.  Fate  is  but  the 
deepest  current  of  one's  nature." 

Conscience  declared  his  words  true.  The 
thing  that  she  had  chosen  was  the  thing  that 
she  desired.  Instead  of  an  imaginary  victim  of 
duty,  she  saw  the  bald  reality  of  a  girl  choos- 
ing shame,  because  the  splendor  of  a  court  had 
dazzled  her  imagination. 

"  Oh,  save  me,  then !  Save  me,  Louis,  from 
myself !  "  she  moaned. 

She  seized  his  hand  and  pressed  it  to  her 
338 


King  or  Knave 

lips,  while  tears  streamed  over  it.  She  was  on 
her  knees,  in  pitiful,  abasement. 

He  looked  down  on  the  beautiful  golden  head 
bowed  in  contrition.  His  love  came  surging 
back  in  all  its  force.  Yes,  he  would  take  her 
as  she  was.  Her  treachery  should  be  buried  in 
oblivion.  To  cherish  her  nobler  self,  aroused 
at  last,  would  be  the  work  of  his  life.  Thank 
God !  it  was  not  too  late.  She  might  yet  be 
redeemed.  The  memory  of  all  this  horror 
should  be  sunk  in  a  sea  of  love.  And  Heaven 
would  smile  on  their  united  lives. 

He  lifted  her.  He  folded  her  in  his  arms. 
Their  lips  met  in  a  long  kiss.  Her  head  sank 
on  his  shoulder,  its  golden  wealth  against  his 
cheek.  Her  burdened  heart  found  relief  in 
tears.  Every  questioning  was  forgotten  in  the 
consciousness  of  resting  on  that  true  breast. 
An  eternity  of  ecstasy  was  in  that  embrace. 

Bellegarde  tasted  the  joy  for  which  he  had 
yearned  so  many  years.  She  was  his.  And  in 
that  supreme  fact  all  that  was  painful  was 
swallowed  up. 

But  it  behooved  him  to  act  quickly.  For  the 
situation  was  perilous.  She  who  clung  to  him 
was  pledged  to  his  sovereign.  The  royal  lover 
would  not  be  slow  to  claim  his  prize.  It  was  in 
the  nature  of  the  man  to  hasten  from  the  field 
of  battle,  to  lay  his  trophies  at  her  feet.  At 
any  moment  he  might  appear. 

Bellegarde's  resolution  was  quickly  taken.  It 
required  nerve.  He  was  about  to  defy  his 
339 


King  or  Knave 

sovereign  and  to  snatch  the  prize  away  from 
him,  on  the  very  eve  of  fruition.  And  it  re- 
quired prompt  and  swift  action.  They  must  fly 
at  once.  With  good  horses  they  might  succeed 
in  reaching  the  border,  or,  pressed  hard,  they 
might  find  a  hiding-place  in  some  isolated  cor- 
ner of  the  kingdom. 

It  was  a  hazardous  step.  It  meant  to  quit 
his  post,  to  sacrifice  employment,  friends,  and 
future  advancement ;  to  leave  behind  all  that  he 
had  struggled  to  win  by  slow  effort,  and  to  go 
forth  into  the  world,  a  penniless  stranger,  with 
his  way  to  make  and  his  King  for  his  mortal 
enemy.  But  his  spirit  rose  equal  to  its  need. 
Gabrielle  saved,  he  would  count  the  world  well 
lost  for  her  dear  sake.  And,  with  her  by  his 
side,  how  sweet  would  be  the  bitterest  cup  of 
poverty  and  privation ! 

"  Thank  God  !  You  are  mine,  darling.  You 
trust  me  fully?  " 

She  clung  closer  to  him. 

He  gently  disengaged  himself  from  her  arms, 
so  as  to  hold  her  where  he  might  look  into  her 
eyes. 

"Then  listen  to  me,  sweet.  There  is  not  a 
moment  to  be  lost.  Our  only  hope  is  in  instant 
flight.  With  good  horses,  we  shall  be  across 
the  border,  before  we  can  be  overtaken.  Then 
we  shall  be  safe.  In  the  service  of  the  Prince  of 
Orange  or  the  Queen  of  England  I  shall  earn  a 
modest  livelihood.  Are  you  willing  to  share 
poverty  and  obscurity  with  me?" 
340 


King  or  Knave 

She  suddenly  turned  ghastly  pale.  The  light 
died  in  her  eyes.  She  staggered  into  a  seat  and 
sank  down,  in  an  attitude  of  despair,  with  no 
word,  but  only  a  moan. 

"  Tell  me,  Gabrielle,  what  ails  you  ?  "  Belle- 
garde  cried  almost  fiercely.  "  Are  you  afraid 
of  poverty?  Are  you  unwilling  to  pay  the 
price  of  deliverance  and  of  honest  love?" 

"  Oh,  my  God,  no !  Not  that !  But  my  oath ! 
I  had  forgotten  it,  in  the  madness  of  my  joy. 
Hated  oath  that  binds  me  to  shame !  " 

"  What  mean  you  ?  That  you  have  sworn  to 
this  dishonor?  " 

"  Yes,  Louis,  sworn  to  it  on  the  holy  image." 

"  Fling  to  the  winds  such  scruples  !  Accursed 
compact  with  Hell !  Think  you  that  God  holds 
you  to  it,  and  not  rather  that  He  will  bless  you 
for  breaking  it?" 

She  stared  at  him  with  open-eyed  horror  of 
his  impious  words. 

"  Tempt  me  not,  Louis,  to  a  worse  wrong 
than  any  that  is  past.  I  have  sinned  enough. 
Ask  me  not  to  defy  God,  to  whom  I  have  sworn. 
Better  let  me  suffer  the  penalty  of  my  wicked- 
ness than  add  a  new  crime." 

He  regarded  her  in  blank  amazement  Then 
he  saw  that  the  trouble  with  her  was  deeper 
than  he  could  reach;  that  beneath  that  exte- 
rior of  marvellous  beauty  was  an  unsounded 
abyss  of  perversity,  of  faithfulness  only  to  false 
notions. 

Still   he   pleaded,   urged,   implored.      Every 


King  or  Knave 

minute  was  precious.     At  any  instant  the  King 
might  come  to  claim  her. 

In  vain.  She  was  deaf  to  every  appeal.  He 
would  have  dragged  her  away.  She  waved 
him  off,  saying,  "  Touch  me  not !  I  am  pledged 
to  another,  and  my  oath  is  registered  in  Heaven. 
Would  you  damn  my  soul  forever?" 

Who  could  reason  with  such  a  being?  He 
groaned.  Before  his  very  eyes,  the  idol  of  his 
fancy  had  become  clay. 

He  exclaimed  despairingly,  "  Alas !  What 
remains  to  me?" 

"  Hope,"  she  said  with  quivering  lips,  glanc- 
ing for  an  instant  into  his  face  and  immediately 
dropping  her  eyes. 

He  looked  at  her  in  deeper  amazement. 
What?  A  new  treachery? 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  a  dog,  that  I  should  be 
content  to  gather  by  stealth  the  crumbs  that 
may  fall  from  my  master's  table,  or  to  wait  to 
receive  you  at  the  King's  hands  with  a  dower, 
when  he  tires  of  you  ?  " 

She  winced  at  this  thrust.  The  bitter  truth  of 
her  degradation  was  coming  home  to  her. 

Horsemen  were  heard  in  the  courtyard.  He 
looked  out.  Two  men  were  dismounting. 

"  He  is  come,"  he  said  simply. 

She  uttered  a  cry  of  terror.  "  Oh,  Heaven  ! 
Is  there  no  power  to  save  me?" 

Tottering  towards  her  lover  with  arms  out- 
stretched in  a  last   appeal,  she  moaned,  "Oh, 
Louis,  do  you  too  abandon  me?" 
342 


King  or  Knave 

"  Defend  you  against  all  the  world  I  will, 
Mademoiselle,  with  the  last  drop  of  my  blood. 
But  from  yourself  I  cannot  save  you." 

Then,  as  he  withdrew  through  one  door, 
through  another  appeared  Henry,  eager  and 
flushed,  with  the  rheumy  eyes  and  wizened 
countenance  of  the  Sieur  de  Liancourt  peering 
over  his  shoulder,  the  lover  and  the  husband  of 
her  choice. 


THE  END 


343 


fiction 


"Che  King's  Frenchman.  A  Chronicle  of  the  Sixteenth 
Century.  Brought  to  light  and  edited  by  WILLIAM 
HENRY  JOHNSON,  izmo.  Cloth,  extra,  gilt  top.  $1.50. 

What  is  more  noticeable  than  the  interest  of  the  story  itself  is  Mr.  John- 
son's intuitive  insight  and  thorough  understanding  of  the  period.  While  the  book 
is  Weyman  in  vigorous  activity,  it  is  Dumas  in  its  brilliant  touches  of  romanti- 
cism. —  Boston  Herald. 

Mr.  Johnson  has  caught  the  spirit  of  the  period,  and  has  painted  in  Henry 
of  Navarre  a  truthful  and  memorable  historical  portrait.  —  The  Mail  and  Express 
of  New  York. 


Duenna  of  a  Genius.  By  M.  E.  FRANCIS  (Mrs. 
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lage," "A  Daughter  of  the  Soil,"  etc.  I2mo.  Cloth, 
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Freshly  told  and  charmingly  conceived.  Very  delightful  reading,  and,  in 
these  hurried  and  high-strung  days,  a  genuine  refreshment.  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"Che  Count's  8miff-Box.  A  Romance  of  Washington 
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R.  R.  RIVERS,  author  of  "The  Governor's  Garden," 
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lent idea  of  society  and  manners  in  the  nation's  capital  nearly  a  century  ago.  — 
Boston  Transcript. 

Will  rank  as  one  of  the  successes  of  the  year  if  there  is  any  faith  to  be  put 
in  a  capital  story  in  a  frame  fashioned  of  our  own  rugged  history.  —  Denver 
Republican. 

Bach  Life  Unfulfilled.  By  ANNA  CHAPIN  RAY,  author 
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of  the  story  are  laid  in  a  Western  summer  resort  and  in  New  York. 


F)as9an.     H  Romance  of  Palestine*    By  HENRY 

GILLMAN.     Crown  8vo.     600  pages.     Cloth,  gilt  top. 

$2.00. 

The  author  of  this  powerful  romance  lived  in  Palestine  for  over  five 
years,  and  during  his  residence  there  had  unusual  and  peculiar  advantages 
for  seeing  and  knowing  the  people  and  the  country,  enabling  him  to  enrich 
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The  impression  made  by  reading  the  book  is  like  that  of  witnessing  a  great 
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Sielanha:  a  forest  picture,  and  Other  Stories* 

By  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ,  author  of  "Quo  Vadis," 
"With  Fire  and  Sword,"  etc.  Translated  from  the 
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This  new  volume  by  the  most  popular  writer  of  the  time  includes  the 
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It  comprises  six  hundred  pages,  and  contains  the  following  stories,  dramas, 
etc. :  Sielanka,  a  Forest  Picture ;  For  Bread  ;  Orso  ;  Whose  Fault,  a  Dra- 
matic Picture  in  One  Act ;  On  a  Single  Card,  a  Play  in  Five  Acts ;  The 
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Plains ;  The  Diary  of  a  Tutor  in  Poznan ;  The  Lighthouse  Keeper  of 
Aspinwall ;  Yamyol  (Angel);  The  Bull  Fight;  A  Comedy  of  Errors;  A 
Journey  to  Athens  ;  Zola. 

Under  the  seventeen  titles  one  finds  almost  as  many  aspects  of  the  genius  of 
Sienkiewicz.  Detached  from  the  intricacies  of  an  elaborate  composition,  figures, 
scenes,  and  episodes  become  far  more  effective.  —  New  York  Times. 

Xn  Tain.    By  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.    Translated  from 
the  Polish  by  JEREMIAH  CURTIN.     i6mo.    Cloth,  extra. 

$1.25. 

A  love  story  of  modern  Poland,  by  the  author  of  "  Quo  Vadis,"  not 
before  translated.  The  scene  is  laid  at  Kieff,  and  university  life  there  is 
described. 


Story  Of  Gb'sta  Berling.  Translated  from  the 
Swedish  of  SELMA  LAGERL&F,  by  PAULINE  BANCROFT 
FLACH.  izmo.  Cloth,  gilt.  $1.75. 

When  "Gosta  Berling"  was  first  published  in  Sweden  a  few  years 
ago,  Miss  Lagerldf  immediately  rose  into  prominence,  and,  as  Mr.  E. 
Nesbit  Bain  writes  in  the  October  "  Cosmopolis,"  "  took  the  Swedish 
public  by  storm." 

The  sagalike  treatment  and  almost  lyric  mood  of  "  The  Story  of  Gb'sta 
Berling  "  render  its  form  in  keeping  with  the  unusual  character  of  the  book 
itself.  The  harshness  of  Northern  manners  enables  Miss  Lagerlof  to 
probe  hitman  life  to  its  depths  ;  and  with  the  effect  of  increasing  the  weird 
power  of  'the  whole,  a  convincing  truth  to  nature  is  intermingled  with  the 
wild  legends  and  folk-lore  of  Varmland. 

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mystic  realism.  —  Time  and  the  Hour. 

I  am  the  King.  Being  the  Account  of  some  Happenings 
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SHEPPARD  STEVENS.  i6mo.  Cloth,  extra.  $1.25. 

A  fresh  and  invigorating  piece  of  reading.  —  Nashville  A  merican. 

Characterized  by  those  graceful  touches  which  belong  to  true  and  pure 
romanticism.  —  Boston  Herald. 

It  has  the  straightforwardness  of  the  old-time  story-teller.  —  St.  Louis 
Globe-Democrat. 

Che  Duhe'a  Servants.  H  Romance.  By  SIDNEY 
HERBERT  BURCHELL,  author  of  "  In  the  Days  of  King 
James."  i2tno.  Cloth,  extra.  $1.50. 

A  highly  successful  romance,  of  general  interest  and  of  creditable  workman- 
ship. —  London  A  thenceunt. 

Pastor  Naudte'9  ^oung  Cdife.  By  EDOUARD  ROD. 
Translated  from  the  French  by  BRADLEY  OILMAN. 
I2mo.  Cloth.  $1.25. 

M.  Rod's  new  novel  is  a  study  of  French  Protestantism,  and  its  scene 
is  laid  in  La  Rochelle  and  Montauban,  the  two  Huguenot  strongholds.  It 
was  first  published  in  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  and  at  once  achieved 
success.  "  M.  Rod's  work,"  says  Edmund  Gosse  in  the  "  Contemporary 
Review,"  "whether  in  criticism  or  fiction,  always  demands  attention." 
"The  Catholics,"  says  a  writer  in  "Literature,"  "praise  the  book  because 
they  find  in  it  arguments  against  their  adversaries ;  the  Protestants,  while 
protesting  that  the  author,  because  he  writes  in  the  clerical  Gaulois,  is  none 
of  theirs,  read  it  to  discover  personal  allusions  to  their  spiritual  guides." 

3 


Cbe  Kinship  of  Souls*  H  Narrative*  By  REUEN 
THOMAS.  i2mo.  Cloth,  extra.  $1.50. 

The  author  of  this  work  is  well  known  through  his  connection  with 
the  ministry.  The  volume  gives  an  account  of  a  trip  made  by  a  philo- 
sophical professor,  his  intellectual  daughter,  and  a  young  theological  stu- 
dent, including  descriptions  of  various  portions  of  England  and  Germany 
visited  by  the  persons  of  the  narrative.  The  undogmatic  way  in  which  the 
author  discusses  theology  and  philosophy  will  interest  the  serious-minded. 

King  or  Knave.  dbicb  Glins  ?  An  old  Tale  of  Hugue- 
not Days.  Edited  by  WILLIAM  HENRY  JOHNSON. 
I2mo.  Cloth,  extra.  $1.50. 

This  is  a  sequel  to  the  author's  successful  romance  of  the  time  of 
Henry  of  Navarre,  entitled  "The  King's  Henchman."  Much  of  its  in- 
terest centres  in  the  personality  of  the  famous  Gabrielle  d'Estrees  and  the 
efforts  of  Henry  of  Navarre  to  obtain  possession  of  the  throne  of  France. 

"Che  Miracles  of  Hnticbrist.  By  SELMA  LAGERLOF. 
Author  of  "The  Story  of  Gosta  Berling."  Translated 
from  the  Swedish  by  PAULINE  BANCROFT  FLACH. 
I2mo.  Cloth,  extra.  $1.50. 

This  second  important  work  from  the  pen  of  the  successful  author  of 
"  Gosta  Berling,"  which  has  created  such  a  strong  impression,  will  be 
widely  read.  "  The  author,"  says  a  reviewer  in  "  Cosmopolis,"  "  has 
chosen  the  Etna  region  of  Sicily  as  the  theatre  of  her  story,  and  the  result  is 
a  masterpiece  of  the  highest  order, — a  chef-d'oeuvre  which  places  the 
young  author  in  the  front  rank  of  the  literary  artists  of  her  day.  The 
merits  of  '  Antekrists  Mirakler '  are  so  superlative  that  a  lesser  eulogy 
would  be  inadequate.  ...  It  is  worth  while  to  learn  Swedish  to  read  this 
astonishing  book.  All  who  hunger  after  true  poetry  may  here  eat,  drink, 
and  be  satisfied." 

H  Boy  in  the  Peninsular  <JHar.  The  Services,  Adven- 
tures, and  Experiences  of  Robert  Blakeney,  a  Subaltern 
in  the  28th  Regiment.  An  Autobiography.  Edited  by 
JULIAN  STURGIS.  With  a  map.  8vo.  Cloth,  gilt  top. 
$4.00. 

In  the  pages  of  this  book  will  be  found  a  spirited  picture  of  an 
English  soldier's  life  during  the  Peninsular  War,  with  the  allied  armies 
against  Napoleon's  generals. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  COMPANY,  Publishers 

254  Washington  Street,  Boston,  Mass. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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